I, 


• 


> 
^ 


$1 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


GIANNETTO 


BY 


YM.MAJENDIE 


HenryHolt&Co.  Publisher 


New  York 


The  1 

A   collectic 


E 
C 

C 

'    C 

C 
D 

E 
Fi 

Gc 
Gi 
He 


Is. 

I,..-- 


VI 


1-1' I 


Da 


No. 


FVom 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

.  LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  State  Library 


Se 
all  b 
of  tl 
tbe  - 
fron 

the  Controller  shall  issue  his  warrant  in  favor  61  any  memoer  or 
officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this  State,  for  his  per  diem,  allow- 
ance  or  sal  hall  be  satisfied  thai  such  mber  or  officer 

turned  all  I ks  taken  ...it  of  the  Library  by  him,  and   has 

nettled  all  unte  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

L5.     Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Librarj  by  the  members 
,,f  ,,,,  ,:,,.  and  its  officers  during  the  se  sion  of  the  same, 

and  al  any  time  by  the  Governor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive 
Departmenl  of  this  State,  who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  al 
„„.  Beai  ..f  government,  the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the 
Attorney-General,  and  the  Trustees  of  the  Library. 


Where  reader*  h<ire  m<  retail  Uorea  roUhtn  reach,  Messrs.  Hknuy  Holt  k  Co. 
wtlifemi  their  publications,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  advertlst 
X.   v.,  July  20,   1876. 

7-1^WlTI>........n»l...«l1»_1Lll..l._.fr....J3l 


CONDENSED  CLASSICS. 

Prepared    by    ROSSITER    JOHNSON, 

(Editor    of  "  Little    Classics.") 

Messra.  HENRY  Hoi/r  &  Co.  arc  about  to  begin  tin*  publication,  in  a 
condensed  form,  of  a  .scries  of  Standard  Works  of  English  Fiction  who 
authors  arc  no  longer  living,   and  which,  not   being    impressed    upon 
popular  attention   by  the  appearance  of  new  works   from  the  same 
writers,  are  gradually  being  crowded  into  the  background. 

It  is  not  intended  to  raise  the  question  whether  such  works  shall  be 
read  in  this  edition  or  in  a  complete  one,  but  to  meet  the  question 
already  existing — whether,  in  many  instances,  they  shall  be  read  in 
some  such  edition  as  this,  or  not  read  at  all.  The  list  of  "  books  that. 
everybody  talks  about  and  nobody  reads"  is  growing  with  a  rapidity 
that  implies  widespread  ignorance  regarding  much  of  what  is  best  in 
our  literary  heritage.  It  is  in  the  hope  of  diminishing  this  ignorance, 
not  of  increasing  it — of  securing  for  the  condensed  editions  many  read- 
ers who  would  never  attack  the  complete  ones,  that  this  series  is  begun. 

Very  few  actually  read  every  paragraph  of  a  long  novel,  and  of  tl 
who  do,  many  might  be  glad  to  re-read,  in  a  condensation  which  pre- 
serves every  dramatic  element,  romances  which  once   gave   pleasure, 
but  are  now  forbidden  fruits,  because  of  the  serious  consideration  of 
time. 

This  edition  is  not,  of  course,  to  be  criticised  as  if  it  professed  to  be 
an  improvement  of  the  novels,  but  rather  as  a  species  of  dramatization. 
Every  word,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  connecting  clauses,  is  the 
author's  own,  and  nothing  has  been  consciously  omitted  which  helps 
on  the  story  or  is  necessary  to  the  delineation  of  a  character  or  the 
graphic  portrayal  of  a  scene. 

Though  the  elided  passages  are  by  no  means  worthless,  yet  for  the 
purposes  of  the  rapid  reader  who  desires  only  the  story  and  an  uncritical 
knowledge  of  the  author,  they  can  well  be  spared,  and  the  dramatic 
interest  is  intensified  by  reducing  the  amount  of  matter.  The  aim 
has  been  to  cut  out  everything  that  a  skillful  novel  reader  would  skip, 
and  everything  that  he  might  skip  if  he  knew  what  were  coming.  This 
condensation  leaves  the  novels,  on  the  average,  about  half  of  their 
original  bulk. 

17te  Initial    Work  of  (he  Series  witt  be 

IVAN  HOE.     By    Sir  Walter  Scott.  | 

This  will  be  speedily  followed  by 

OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND.     By  Dickens. 

Which  will  be  succeeded  by 

THE  LAST  DAYS  OF  POMPEII.   By  Bulwer. 

Reasonable  encouragement  will  lead  to  the  completion  of  the  editions 
of  these  authors  and  to  the  similar  publication  of  the  worka  of  Field- 
ing, Sterne,  Marryat.  Lever,  Warren,  and  others. 

$gf~h'<i<ji  novel  will  be  in  (me  small  IStno  vol.,  handsomely  deeorulnf. 
Price  $1.  •  •iri  Bond  St  ,  New  York,  July  30, 

^iiTi.-.rvr... ..rr ...■■...,..1...t<l|M^...rirrnT;TT.T...^^  , 


LEISURE    HOUR    SERIES 


GIANNETTO 


BY 


LADY  MARGARET  MAJENDIE 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1876 


B.  Hermon  Smith    Stereotyper,  J.  F.  Trow  &  Son,  Printers, 

Ithaca  N.  Y.  205-213  E.  12th  St.,. New  York. 


GIANNETTO. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

IT  was  one  very  lovely  evening  in  the  early  au- 
tumn that  I  first  became  acquainted  with  the 
little  village  of  San  Jacopo. 

I  was  staying  at  Nice  with  my  two  daughters, 
the  younger  of  whom  had  been  ordered  abroad 
for  her  health ;  and  occasionally,  when  wearied 
by  the  monotonous  routine  of  our  life,  I  used  to 
amuse  myself  by  making  excursions  of  some  days' 
length  in  the  neighborhood. 

These  journeys  often  brought  me  upon  beauti- 
ful and  secluded  villages,  unknown  to  the  ordi- 
nary traveler,  and  passed  by  as  merely  far-off 
features  of  the  surrounding  landscape ;  but  sel- 
dom have  I  beheld  a  more  picturesque  scene  than 
that  presented  to  me  by  my  first  sight  of  San 
Jacopo. 

The  village  lies  in  a  bay,  huge  rocks  closing  it 

932648 


GIANNETTO. 


in  on  every  side  except  on  the  south,  where  the 
sea  ripples  to  its  feet,  intensely,  wondrously  blue, 
as  only  the  Mediterranean  can  be.  The  sole  ac- 
cess to  it  is  by  steep  paths,  cut  in  zigzag  lines 
down  the  cliffs,  in  some  places  so  steep  that  they 
become  rugged  steps,  only  to  be  trodden  by  man 
and  the  sure-footed  mule.  The  main  road  of  the 
Riviera  runs  some  miles  inland,  and  the  fisher 
population  live  on  from  year  to  year  undisturbed 
by  visitors. 

The  sun  had  just  gone  down,  and  the  after-glow 
of  the  warm  south  tinged  every  object  with  its 
golden  light.  The  sea  lay  calm  and  still  as  a  lake, 
scarcely  ruffling  itself  into  little  glistening  wreaths 
of  foam,  as  it  played  with  the  base  of  the  rocks. 
Myrtle  and  arbutus,  and  masses  of  emerald  vege- 
tation, grew  down  to  the  very  water's  edge. 

It  was  growing  late,  but  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  going  down  into  the  village  ;  and  I 
was  well  rewarded.  Through  quaint,  narrow 
streets,  overhung  by  the  wide  projecting  roofs  of 
the  houses,  I  walked  till  a  sudden  turn  brought 
me  into  the  piazza  of  the  village.  It  was  large 
for  so  small  a  place.  On  one  side  the  little  church, 
with  its  tall  slender  belfry,  and  in  the  midst  a 


GIANNETTO.  3 

large  fountain — the  clear  water  dripping  over  the 
side  out  of  the  broken  lips  of  four  quaint  old 
lions. 

Two  or  three  steps  led  up  to  this  fountain,  and 
on  and  about  these  a  group  of  peasants  was  as- 
sembled ;  some  sat,  some  leaned  over  the  edge ; 
all  were  talking  and  gesticulating,  and  a  look  of 
gayety  animated  the  whole  scene.  It  was,  I  re- 
membered, a  festa. 

In  one  corner  of  the  piazza  sat  an  old  woman 
selling  medallions,  images,  rosaries,  etc. ;  and 
now  and  then  her  shrill  voice  echoed  through  the 
crowd,  "Buy,  buy,  Signori;  for  the  love  of 
heaven ! " 

Suddenly  a  side-door  of  the  church,  probably 
that  of  the  sacristy,  opened,  and  a  loud,  deep 
voice  called  out,  "Ola,  Carola,  come  here!"  A 
tidy-looking  woman  left  her  doorway  and  hurried 
across  to  the  church — she  appeared  to  say  some- 
thing which  I  could  not  hear ;  then  the  former 
voice  exclaimed,  "Certainly,  certainly."  The 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  village  priest 
came  forth  and  advanced  towards  me. 

The  Curato  of  San  Jacopo  was  a  tall  angular 
man,  with  a  mild  and  kindly  expression  of  face. 


4.  GIANNETTO. 

In  any  other  than  an  Italian  the  large  limbs  and 
gaunt  frame  would  have  been  awkward ;  but  there 
was  a  certain  grace  in  his  movements,  and  even 
in  the  way  in  which  the  scanty  and  rather  rusty 
cassock  hung  closely  around  him.  The  courtesy 
with  which  he  removed  the  three-cornered  hat 
from  his  tonsured  head,  and  bowed  low,  would 
have  rivaled  the  courtly  welcome  of  the  highest- 
born  gentleman. 

"Welcome,  welcome,  Signore!"  he  said,  ex- 
tending a  long  sinewy  hand,  with  supple  fingers  ; 
"without  doubt  you  have  heard  of  our  picture, 
and  would  like  to  see  it?  Alas!  it  is  becoming 
dark,  and  the  morning  light  is  best.  But  what 
matter?  one  cannot  always  choose!"  and  beck- 
oning me  to  follow,  he  led  the  way  towards  the 
principal  door  of  the  church. 

The  peasants  stood  aside  as  we  passed,  looking 
after  me  with  smiling,  good-humored  faces.  One 
among  them  especially  attracted  my  attention — 
a  tall  youth,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  fount- 
ain, and  leaning  over  the  side.  He  was  dressed 
in  a  fashion  rather  superior  to  that  of  his  com- 
panions, and  looked  somewhat  above  them  in 
intelligence,  if  not  in  rank.      Though  all  those 


GIANNETTO.  5 

who  stood  round  him  were  chattering  and  laugh- 
ing gayly,  he  neither  moved  nor  spoke,  but  stood 
motionless  as  a  statue,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
water. 

"Would  you  tell  me,  Signore,"  I  ashed,  "is 
that  tall  young  fellow  one  of  the  village  fisher- 
men, like  the  others?" 

"Who?  where?  Ah!  it  is  Nencini  you  speak 
of.  Yes,  he  is  a  fisherman  ;  poor  lad,  he  is  sadly 
afflicted — dumb  from  his  birth!  Yonder  is  his 
mother,  Carola — excellent  woman!  she  is  my 
housekeeper,  and  I  have  been  able  to  give  him 
something  of  an  education  ;  but  he  is  a  fisherman, 
without  doubt.     We  are  all  fishermen  here." 

"Dumb  from  his  birth" — poor  fellow!  I 
looked  back  at  him  as  we  entered  the  church, 
the  priest  courteously  holding  back  the  heavy 
leathern  curtain  to  let  me  pass.  I  was  struck  by 
the  expression  of  the  lad's  face — it  could  not  be 
called  bad ;  but  there  was  a  dark  look  of  bitter- 
ness on  it  which  sadly  marred  its  beauty.  I  need 
hardly  say  that  I  had  never  before  heard  of  the 
picture  I  was  supposed  to  have  come  to  see  ;  but 
I  did  not  betray  my  ignorance,  for  it  would  have 
deeply  mortified  the  excellent  priest. 


GIANNETTO. 


The  church  was  very  small,  but  elaborately 
decorated.  The  side-altar  of  its  patron  saint, 
San  Jacopo,  was,  above  all,  honored — the  altar, 
apse,  and  wall  being  quite  covered  with  votive 
offerings, — little  pictures  of  wrecks  and  storms, 
of  miraculous  draughts  of  fish,  of  broken  boats, 
etc.,  with  silver  hearts  of  every  size  and  weight, 
and,  in  front,  a  whole  row  of  lamps  burning,  each 
in  its  little  red  glass. 

Over  the  altar  hung  the  famous  picture,  cov- 
ered by  a  faded  green  curtain.  After  lighting 
two  of  the  tall  candles  before  it,  the  good  priest 
drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  allowed  me  to  be- 
hold the  treasure  of  San  Jacopo. 

It  was  a  curious,  very  old  specimen  of  Byzan- 
tine art— the  Madonna  and  Child,  almost  black 
with  age,  and  made  more  so  by  the  huge  flat 
crowns  of  beaten  silver  on  the  brows  of  the  sa- 
cred figures.  Something  there  was  about  it  dig- 
nified and  grand,  as  there  often  is  even  in  the 
inferior  specimens  of  that  school. 

The  Ourato  was  just  beginning  his  explanations 
when  a  sound  from  without  arrested  his  atten- 
tion ;  shouts  of  laughter,  and  a  curious  sort  of 
noise  like  the  inarticulate  roar  of  some  enraged 


GIANNETTO.  7 

animal — then  a  shrill  woman's  voice,  talking 
loudly. 

"Allow  me,  allow  me,  Signore !  a  little  mo- 
ment," he  exclaimed,  hurriedly  quitting  the 
church.  Presently  I  heard  his  voice  loudly  re- 
monstrating, and  the  sounds  ceased.  For  some 
time  he  did  not  return,  and  I  sat  down  on  a 
bench  in  front  of  the  sacred  picture.  After  about 
ten  minutes  I  got  tired  of  waiting,  and  went  to 
the  door,  intending  to  go  out ;  when,  rather  to 
my  consternation,  I  found  that  it  was  locked.  I 
could  not  help  smiling,  for  it  was  very  evident 
that  the  priest  was  so  afraid  of  my  escaping  with- 
out hearing  his  story,  that  he  had  locked  me  in. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  patience,  and  I 
philosophically  resigned  myself  to  my  fate. 

The  after-glow  faded  away  ;  the  short  southern 
twilight  was  over,  and  the  little  church  grew 
darker  and  darker. 

After  an  absence  of  about  three-quarters  of 
an  hour,  the  priest  returned  through  the  sacristy, 
followed  by  Gian-Battista  Nencini,  the  dumb  lad. 

Gian-Battista — or  Giannetto,  as  he  was  usually 
called — seated  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  church, 
sullenly  twisting  his  broad-brimmed  hat  between 


8  GIANNETTO. 

his  knees ;  while,  as  if  unconscious  that  a  mo- 
ment had  elapsed  since  he  left  me,  the  good  priest 
continued  his  discourse  just  where  he  had  left  off. 
"Behold,  Signore,  what  grace!  what  benevo- 
lence !  how  natural  the  attitude  !  The  picture 
has  not  always  been  here.  Heaven  knows  that 
San  Jacopo  might  have  been  a  great  and  flourish- 
ing town  by  this  time  had  it  always  been  with  us. 
No,  no  !  in  the  fourteenth  century  it  was  carried 
off  by  a  certain  Ceccolo  degli  Orsini,  one  of  the 
Roman  princes,  they  say,  a  great  condottiere  by 
sea  and  land.  He  carried  it  as  a  banner  for 
years ;  but,  by  the  intervention  of  the  saints,  it 
was  preserved  from  spears  and  swords,  and  it 
won  for  him  the  battle  of  Turrita,  in  the  Valdi- 
chiana,  when  he  was  in  the  service  of  the  repub- 
lic of  Siena.  Some  eighty  years  ago  it  was  sold 
in  Rome  (by  whom,  it  is  not  known),  but  it  was 
bought  for  a  French  convent,  and  sent  off  by  sea 
from  Civita  Vecchia.  By  the  miraculous  ordi- 
nance of  heaven  the  ship  went  down,  and  the 
picture  was  washed  ashore.  It  was  found  on  the 
beach  by  the  fishermen,  and  brought  back  once 
more  into  the  church.  Alas  !  some  of  the  dra- 
pery was  damaged,  but  it  has  been  well  restored 


GIAXNETTO.  9 

by  a  young  artist  who  passed  through  the  town  ; 
and  behold,  the  principal  parts,  the  two  faces,  are 
intact.  Since  it  has  been  here,  many  are  the 
good  deeds  it  has  done.  Look  at  this  picture" — 
pointing  to  one  of  the  votive  offerings — "see  the 
raging  sea,  the  sinking  boat,  the  man  swimming 
for  his  life !  That  man  was  Pietro  Nencini, 
father  of  Giannetto  yonder.  At  the  moment  he 
was  sinking  he  called  on  the  Santa  Madonna  of 
San  Jacopo,  and  just  as  he  called,  he  felt  dry 
land !  He  lived  to  die  in  his  bed,  and  leave  his 
widow  to  be  my  housekeeper.  Ah !  it  was  a 
wonderful  preservation  !  Many  a  time  has  poor 
Carola  entreated  the  intervention  of  Madonna 
and  San  Jacopo  to  restore  speech  to  her  son ; 
but — what  will  you? — 'tis  the  will  of  Heaven." 

The  priest  paused  to  take  breath,  and  I  asked 
him  what  had  been  the  cause  of  his  leaving  me 
so  abruptly.  He  bent  down,  and  spoke  low,  that 
Giannetto  should  not  hear. 

"It  was  those  lads,"  he  said.  "In  their  idle 
hours  they  are  always  laughing  and  mocking 
Giannetto  ;  and  when  I  am  not  there,  they  drive 
him  half  mad.  Heaven  help  me  !  at  such  times 
he  is  a  wild  beast,  and  even  I  can  scarcely  calm 


10  GIANNETTO. 

him.     Cruel !  cruel !     Wiry  cannot  they  leave  the 
poor  boy  alone?" 

The  priest  turned  angrily  round,  looking  at 
Giannetto.  He  continued,  with  a  sigh,  "Some- 
times I  have  thought  that  some  doctor  might  cure 
him.  I  have  heard  that  such  things  are  not  im- 
possible ;  but  I  have  not  the  means  of  paying 
one,  and  his  mother  still  less." 

Poor  Giannetto  sat  still  in  the  dark  corner  of 
the  church,  leaning  back  against  the  wall.  The 
sullenness  had  faded  out  of  his  face  now,  leaving 
on  it  a  look  of  depression  which  went  to  my 
heart.  I  felt  the  most  profound  pity  for  one  so 
young,  writhing  under  so  grievous  a  burden,  evi- 
dently chafing  and  rebelling  against  it,  unable  to 
resign  himself,  and  growing  more  and  more  em- 
bittered by  his  isolation.  But  for  that  look  of 
bitterness  he  would  have  been  very  handsome. 
Slightly  made  and  tall,  his  figure  was  muscular 
and  active  ;  and  I  learned  afterwards  that  he  was 
one  of  the  most  skillful  and  successful  fishermen 
on  the  coast. 

The  priest  remained  silent  for  a  moment  or  so, 
and  then,  with  a  short  sigh,  he  turned  away,  and 
began  replacing  the  curtain  over  the  sacred  pict- 


GIANNETTO.  ■  \\ 

ure,  saying,  as  he  did  so,  "  Vossignoria  should 
visit  us  on  our  great  day,  the  feast  of  San  Jacopo. 
Ah  !  then  he  would  see  great  things  ;  for  the  pil- 
grims come  from  far  and  wide,  and  the  flowers 
and  garlands  are  many.  Behold,  that  large  sil- 
ver heart  was  given  by  a  lady  from  near  Mentone 
— a  great  and  rich  lady.  Her  husband  had  been 
at  sea,  and  she  awaited  his  return  ;  but  for  three 
weeks  after  his  vessel  was  due  at  Marseilles  it  did 
not  arrive,  and  Signora  Francesca  vowed  a  silver 
heart  to  every  church  dedicated  to  San  Jacopo 
(his  patron  saint)  within  fifty  miles,  if  he  should 
return  safely.  At  the  end  of  forty  days  the  ship 
came  in ;  but  the  husband  had  lost  one  leg,  so 
she  naturally  reduced  the  number  of  miles  to 
twenty,  and  our  church  was  happily  within  the 
distance." 

The  priest  would  have  run  on  forever  in  this 
strain ;  but  the  gathering  clouds  warned  me  that 
I  must  not  linger  if  I  hoped  to  regain  the  little 
town  where  I  had  slept  the  previous  night  before 
total  darkness. 

I  took  out  what  money  I  had  with  me,  and 
offered  it  to  the  priest  for  his  poor.  He  took  it 
in  his  hand,  jingling  it  for  a  moment,  and  then, 


12  GIANNETTO. 

in  a  half-hesitating  way,  he  said,  "A  thousand 
pardons,  Signore ;  but  if  Yossignoria  did  not  ob- 
ject, I  have  a  little  fund  in  hand  which  I  am  try- 
ing to  raise  to  send  Giannetto  to  a  great  doctor 
at  Nice ;  and  we  have  not  any  really  in  need  at 
this  moment.  San  Jacopo  be  praised!  the  fish 
came  asking  to  be  caught  this  3-ear.  So  if  }*ou 
do  not  object,  might  I?" 

I  was  about  to  give  a  ready  assent,  when  a 
sudden  idea  struck  me,  and  I  said,  "  Why  should 
not  Giannetto  return  with  me  to  Nice,  see  the 
doctor,  and  hear  whether  anything  can  be  done 
for  him?"  The  priest  caught  at  the  offer  with 
great  eagerness,  and  I  could  see  how  much  his 
good  heart  was  set  on  the  poor  lad's  cure. 

While  I  was  speaking,  I  had  forgotten  that  we 
had  moved  towards  the  door  of  the  church,  close 
to  the  corner  in  which  Giannetto  sat,  when  sud- 
denly I  felt  my  hands  seized  and  kissed  with  all 
the  fervor  of  Italian  gratitude  ;  and  looking  round 
I  saw  a  pair  of  large  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  me, 
changed  iir  expression,  mute  and  imploring, 
shining  with  the  light  of  a  new  hope,  so  intense 
and  eager  that  they  haunted  me  long  after. 
Alas!  at  that  moment  it  Hashed  across  me  what 


GIANXETTO.  13 

a  cruel  disappointment  I  might  be  preparing  for 
these  poor  simple  folk.  Could  dumbness  such 
as  this  be  cured?  I  felt  a  strong  conviction  that 
it  could  not ;  and  I  was  almost  angry  with  myself 
for  having  suggested  the  idea.  "  But  remember," 
I  said,  "do  not  hope  too  much.  The  most 
learned  and  cleverest  doctors  can  do  no  good  if 
it  be  not  the  wTill  of  God." 

The  priest  answered  me  very  gravely,  "True, 
true,  Signore.  And  if  this  fail,  Giannetto  will 
know  that  it  is  God's  will,  and  we  will  pray  for 
patience  for  him." 

Before  an  hour  was  over,  Giannetto  had  taken 
leave  of  his  mother,  we  had  mounted  the  hill,  and 
were  on  our  road  towards  Nice — a  large  lamp- 
like  moon  turning  the  gentle  sea  into  a  sheet  of 
silver. 


CHAPTEK  II. 

NOTHING  could  be  more  attentive  than  Gian- 
netto's  manners  to  me  during  our  three 
days'  walk  back  to  Nice.  He  seemed  to  think 
constantly  of  my  comfort,  sheltering  me  from 
the  sun,  insisting  upon  carrying  my  knapsack, 
and  evidently  most  anxious  to  show  that  he  was 
devoted  to  my  service.  We  carried  on  a  sort  of 
conversation,  he  answering  my  questions  either 
by  signs  or  by  writing  on  a  slate;  for,  unlike 
most  of  his  equals,  he  could  both  read  and  write 
well.  I  learned  in  this  way  something  of  his 
former  history. 

Pietro,  his  father,  died  when  he  was  a  child 
but  two  years  old,  leaving  him  and  his  mother 
Carola  dependent  on  the  charity  of  the  village. 
The  good  priest  made  her  his  housekeeper,  pay- 
ing her  a  very  moderate  sum  weekly  for  services 
which  hitherto  had  been  done  for  him  voluntarily 
by  the  village  women.     Perhaps  his  little  allow- 


GIANNETTO.  15 

ance  of  meat  was  curtailed  in  consequence,  and 
it  certainly  was  all  that  Carola  could  do  to  make 
the  threadbare  cassock  hold  out  as  long  as  possi- 
ble while  this  weekly  payment  lasted ;  but,  when 
Giannetto  was  still  a  very  young  boy,  he  began 
to  earn  something  for  himself;  and  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  he  bought  a  share  in  a  fishing-boat,  and 
was  able  henceforth  to  support  his  mother  by  his 
own  exertions. 

Giannetto's  partner  in  the  ownership  of  the 
boat  was  a  certain  Pietro  Zei,  a  man  about  ten 
years  older  than  himself,  and  of  him  he  spoke 
(or,  I  should  rather  say,  wrote)  with  a  hatred 
that  almost  amounted  to  ferocity.  Pietro  was  a 
clever  fisherman,  and  was  looked  upon  by  his 
younger  companions  as  a  leader  and  wit  among 
them.  Unfortunately,  all  his  tastes  were  those  of 
a  tyrant ;  he  would  laugh  and  torment  Giannetto 
unceasingly,  imitating  the  inarticulate  sounds  the 
poor  fellow  made,  jeering  and  taunting  him,  till 
he  worked  him  up  into  fury.  The  village  lads 
were  only  too  ready  to  follow  his  lead,  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  Giannetto's  temper,  never 
very  gentle,  became  more  gloomy  and  morose 
every  day,  too  often  varied  by  fits  of  unbridled 


IQ  GIANNETTO. 

passion.  In  vain  for  many  years  had  the  priest 
striven  to  repress  this  spirit  of  cruel  raillery ;  al- 
though controlled  in  his  presence,  it  broke  out 
universally  when  he  was  not  near.  It  is  fair  to  say 
that  I  believe  that  Pietro  and  his  fellow-torment- 
ors little  realized  the  pain  they  inflicted.  They 
were  cruel,  partly  from  thoughtlessness,  and  a 
good  deal  from  utter  inability  to  understand  the 
acute  sensitiveness  of  the  dumb  boy,  who,  proud 
and  disposed  to  be  vindictive  by  nature,  suffered 
from  the  humihation  of  his  infirmity  to  an  unusual 
degree. 

At  the  age  of  nineteen,  three  years  before  I 
first  came  across  him,  Giannetto  had  saved  money 
enough  to  buy  a  boat,  and  release  himself  from 
his  partnership  with  Pietro.  He  succeeded  well 
in  his  trade,  and  his  mother  and  the  Curato  had 
great  hopes  that  he  would  settle  down  resigned 
to  his  fate,  and  live,  if  not  in  content,  at  least  in 
submission  to  the  decree  of  heaven ;  but,  to  their 
sorrow,  it  proved  far  otherwise.  The  good  priest 
would  often  hold  long  conversations  with  him, 
telling  him  of  the  duty  of  resignation;  but  the 
truths  of  religion  seemed  to  have  no  effect  upon 
him — his  heart  was  one  wild  rebellion,  untamed 


GIANNETTO.  17 

and  unruly ;  and  it  was  in  this  condition  of  mind 
that  I  first  found  him. 

We  reached  Nice  before  the  great  heat  of  the 
day  set  in,  on  a  Sunday  morning;  but  it  was 
already  hot  and  very  dusty,  and  I  was  not  sorry 
to  consign  Giannetto  to  the  care  of  my  Italian 
servant  Beppo,  and  retire  to  wash  and  change 
my  clothes.  My  daughters,  not  expecting  my 
return  till  the  following  day,  had  gone  to  church ; 
and  so,  tired  with  my  early  start,  and  rendered 
drowsy  by  the  increasing  heat,  I  lay  down  on 
Helen's  luxurious  sofa  and  fell  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  entrance  of  Beppo,  who 
came  to  ask  for  orders.  I  told  him  I  had  none 
to  give;  but  he  still  lingered,  and  at  last  said, 
"Does  the  Signor  Conte  know  anything  about 
the  young  country  lad  he  has  brought  home?" 

Knowing  that  Beppo  was  the  kindest-hearted 
fellow  in  the  world,  I  told  him  briefly  the  history 
of  Giannetto.     I  saw  that  he  was  touched. 

"Poor  boy,  poor  fellow!"  he  kept  repeating; 
"and  I  smiled  at  the  queer  noises  he  makes, 
beast  that  I  am !  And  the  Signore  says  that  they 
mocked  at  him?  Diamine!  they  deserve  to  have 
their  tongues  cut !  If  you  will  excuse  me,  I  fly 
2 


18  GIANNETTO. 

to  see  that  they  have  not  stinted  him  in  his  maca- 
roni. They  are  misers  in  this  hotel,  veritable 
misers — and  their  wine  of  Asti  no  better  than  a 
vin  du  pays." 

Beppo  was  darting  off,  when  I  stopped  him, 
being  anxious  to  know  what  Giannetto  was  do- 
ing with  himself  down-stairs.  Beppo  twisted  his 
hands  together — "It  was  for  that  I  asked  the 
Signor  Conte  if  he  knew  who  and  what  he  was. 
He  is  strange!  but  very  strange!  First,  he  sits 
down,  then  he  stands  up,  then  he  walks  back- 
wards and  forwards  thus" — and  Beppo  shambled 
about  the  room,  till  I  could  scarcely  forbear 
laughing;  "then  he  sits  again,  till  a  new  idea 
strikes  him — he  leans  out  of  the  window,  he 
walks  anew.  Corpo  di  Bacco !  what  a  restless 
individual  it  is!  One  or  two  have  spoken  to 
him.  Mise  Brown,  the  maid  of  the  Signorine, 
said  something  to  him— a  compliment,  a  remark, 
who  can  tell  ? — but  he  made  such  a  scowl  at  her, 
that  she  fled  to  me  for  protection,  and  has  not 
ventured  into  the  room  since." 

"Never  mind,  Beppo,"  I  said;  "you  now  know 
that  it  is  all  the  restlessness  of  suspense.     You 
see  that  he  hopes  that  this  may  prove  the  turn 
ing-point  of  his  Avhole  life." 


GIANNETTO.  19 

"But  must  he  wait?"  asked  Beppo,  with  his 
usual  energy.  "  Will  not  the  Siguor  Conte  write 
at  once  ?  There  is  the  Doctor  Bartolonimei ;  to 
be  sure  he  always  goes  into  the  country  on  Sun- 
days. Then  the  Doctor  Simon — he  might  come ! 
But  no,  he  is  this  day  at  Mentone — a  consulta- 
tion— an  English  Milord  is  there  ill;  and  this 
morning  he  was  sent  for  even  out  of  his  bed,  and 
went  off  in  a  vetturino-carriage  at  full  gallop. 
But  how  about  the  English  doctor  who  attends 
our  young  lady?  The  Signor  Conte  has  but  to 
command — I  speed  to  the  English  church;  he 
will  be  there  with  his  wife ;  I  wait  till  he  comes 
out ;  I  bring  him  with  me.  Have  I  your  permis- 
sion?" 

"  Patience,  patience,  Beppo !  the  dinner !  Man 
of  energy,  you  forget  the  dinner! — Chi  va  pi- 
ano—  " 

"  Va  sano;  the  Signor  Conte  is  right — he  is 
quite  right;  the  poor  lad  must  wait." 

Early  in  the  afternoon  I  wrote  to  the  English 
doctor  who  was  attending  my  daughter,  briefly 
stating  the  case,  and  begging  him  to  come  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  received  an  answer  that  I  might 
expect  him  after  the  afternoon  service,  which,  as 
the  weather  was  hot,  began  at  five  o'clock. 


20  GIANNETTO. 

About  half-past  four,  Amy  and  I  left  our  villa, 
intending  to  go  to  church ;  but  as  it  was  still  too 
early,  we  lingered  on  our  way,  unwilling  to  arrive 
too  soon.  A  curve  in  the  road  brought  us  in 
sight  of  Giannetto,  leaning  moodily  against  a 
tree,  and  I  went  up  to  speak  to  him.  I  could  see 
by  the  expression  of  his  face  that  the  strain  on 
his  nerves  was  very  great,  and  thought  it  kinder 
not  to  leave  him  quite  to  himself ;  so,  telling  Amy 
that  we  must  give  up  the  afternoon  service,  I 
asked  her  if  slie  could  think  of  anything  we  could 
take  him  to  hear  or  see  that  would  prevent  his 
mind  from  dwelling  too  much  on  the  subject  of 
his  anxieties.  Amy  thought  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  "I  have  heard  that  the  famous  Fran- 
ciscan Era  Geronimo  preaches  at  Santa  Lucia 
this  afternoon  at  four  o'clock ;  the  sermon  must 
be  going  on  now,  and  it  is  said  that  the  effect  he 
produces  is  wonderful.  Why  not  take  him 
there  ?  "  I  thought  that  at  all  events  we  might  try 
it ;  so,  desiring  Giannetto  to  follow  us,  we  took 
our  way  to  Santa  Lucia.  The  streets  were 
crowded  as  we  passed;  all  the  happy-looking 
peasants  from  the  country  round  seemed  to  have 
flocked  together  to  enjoy  the  Sunday  afternoon ; 


GIANNETTO.  21 

they  chattered  gajdy  as  they  strolled  along,  inter- 
changing merry  greetings,  delighting  in  their  well- 
earned  holiday.  A  little  child,  with  his  hands 
full  of  flowers,  passed  us  with  his  mother,  a  come- 
ly peasant  woman:  the  child  looked  wistfully 
over  his  shoulder  at  Giannetto;  something  on 
his  face  gave  him  a  wish  to  comfort  him,  for  sud- 
denly darting  back,  he  thrust  the  flowers  into  his 
hands. 

We  reached  Santa  Lucia,  and  found  it  full  of 
people,  who  had  thronged  from  far  and  near  to 
hear  the  celebrated  Franciscan  preach.  The 
sermon  was  apparently  half  over,  but  I  would 
not  for  worlds  have  missed  the  part  of  it  we  heard. 
The  theme  was  Patience;  the  text,  "Wait  ye 
upon  the  Lord." 

The  face  of  Fra  Geronimo  was  refined,  and 
thin  to  attenuation;  the  large  eyes  hollow  and 
sunken,  but  gleaming  as  if  the  very  soul  looked 
through  them  upon  this  outer  world;  his  thin, 
nervous  hands  gesticulated  incessantly ;  his  voice, 
powerful  and  somewhat  harsh,  now  resounded 
through  the  church,  now  sank  to  a  whisper  so 
thrilling  that  it  penetrated  to  the  farthest  corner. 

"For  what  are  we  sent  into  the  world?"  he  was 


22  GIANNETTO. 

saying  as  we  entered — "for  what  are  we  here? 
To  what  end  are  we  created?  Some  say,  to  eat 
and  drink;  some  say,  to  make  money;  some  say, 
to  love.  There  are  who  say,  for  pleasure ;  there 
are  who  say,  for  sin!  I  say — to  suffer.  Yes, 
brethren ;  I  see  you  turn  away  y our  heads !  For 
what  are  we  sent,  but  to  suffer?  Look  at  the  in- 
fant wailing  as  he  comes  into  the  world ;  mark  the 
career  of  that  child.  Suffering  begins  at  once; 
he  suffers  as  he  grows,  he  suffers  as  he  learns,  he 
suffers  as  he  loves ;  behold,  he  suffers  as  he  lives, 
he  suffers  as  he  dies!  What  would  you?  By 
suffering,  the  world  was  redeemed;  by  suffering, 
heaven  must  be  won!  And  wherefore  rebel?  I 
say  to  you,  brethren,  take  suffering  to  your 
hearts ;  bid  it  welcome.  It  is  the  greatest  bless- 
ing that  can  be  sent  to  you ;  it  will  wean  you  from 
this  world,  and  raise  your  thoughts,  your  hopes, 
your  prayers  to  heaven.  You  are  men  now — 
suffer,  and  you  may  be  saints !  Look  on  St. 
Catherine,  St.  John,  St.  Peter — what  were  they 
but  men  and  women  like  ourselves?  Did  not 
they,  too,  pass  through  the  furnace  of  suffering? 
What  are  they  now  ?  Who  can  tell  of  the  glory 
of  the  Kingdom?     Who  can  describe  their  robes 


GIANNETTO.  23 

of  many  colors,  the  jewels  that  adorn  their  brows? 
Behold,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  bringing 
forward  the  large  crucifix  which  stood  in  the  pul- 
pit— "behold,  and  see!  Is  there  any  sorrow  like 
unto  my  sorrow?  Alas!  the  flesh  is  weak,  and 
crying  and  wailing  abound  in  the  land — Rachel 
weeping  for  her  children,  and  will  not  be  com- 
forted, because  they  are  not.  The  dying  wailing 
because  they  must  die ;  the  living  weeping  that 
they  must  live ;  the  strong  man  laments  that  his 
strength  endureth  not,  the  weak  that  he  has  not 
known  strength;  the  lame  man  bemoaneth  that 
he  cannot  walk,  the  deaf  that  he  cannot  hear,  the 
dumb  that  he  cannot  speak."  (I  felt  Giannetto 
start  and  shiver.)  "I  tell  you,  brethren,  that 
for  every  pain  endured  here,  a  jewel  is  added  to 
the  crown,  a  joy  to  the  heaven  to  come!" 

The  friar  sank  upon  his  knees,  his  face  hidden 
in  his  hands.  No  mortal  ear  heard  the  prayer 
that  was  going  up  to  God ;  but  we  knew  that  he 
was  interceding  for  the  multitude  around  him — 
"I  pray,  not  that  ye  may  be  taken  away,  but  that 
ye  may  endure  unto  the  end." 

Slowly,  and  in  awed  silence,  the  crowd  dis- 
persed ;  and  out  of  the  dark  church,  from  the  faint 


24:  GIANNETTO. 

smell  of  flowers  and  incense,  we  passed  into  full 
sunshine  again.  I  looked  at  Giannetto:  the 
beads  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow;  his 
hands  were  clenched  with  a  force  that  must  have 
given  actual  pain.  I  longed  for  the  power  of 
reading  what  was  passing  in  his  mind.  Was  it 
still  rebellion  that  vexed  his  spirit,  or  had  even  a 
faint  idea  of  the  preacher's  high  and  lofty  mean- 
ing penetrated  into  the  bitter,  saddened  heart? 
Amy  was  struggling  with  her  tears. 

Calm  and  lovely  it  all  looked  in  the  throbbing 
light,  silent  but  for  the  quiet,  even  plash  of  the 
sea  ;  the  air  was  heavy  with  odors  from  the  gar- 
dens of  violets  and  roses,  and  the  warm  scent  of 
the  sweet-bay  rose  up  as  we  trod  the  branches 
which  had  been  allowed  to  grow  too  luxuriantly, 
almost  across  the  path. 

Under  the  verandah,  overhung  with  cool,  shad- 
owy vine-leaves,  Helen's  couch  had  been  drawn 
out;  and  there  she  lay,  basking  in  the  warmth, 
and  looking  better  and  stronger  this  evening  thnn 
I  had  seen  her  for  many  a  long  day.  The  doctor 
had  just  arrived,  and,  with  a  strange  feeling  of 
anxiety  and  excitement,  I  called  Giannetto,  and 
led  the  way  indoors. 


GIANNETTO.  25 

The  interview  was  not  long.  As  I  had  feared, 
he  held  out  no  hopes  whatever.  Dumb  from  his 
birth !  Who  had  ever  heard  of  such  being  cured  ? 
The  fact  which  seemed  to  debar  all  hope  was, 
that  the  doctor  found  the  organs  of  speech  per- 
fect, only  the  power  of  utterance  absent.  He 
added,  "You  had  better  undeceive  him  at  once — 
science  is  of  no  avail  here ;  nothing  but  a  miracle 
could  impart  a  power  denied  by  nature." 

My  conscience  smote  me  when  I  heard  the  ver- 
dict. I  could  not  help  feeling  that  it  might  have 
been  better  to  have  left  Giannetto  undisturbed, 
vaguely  hopeful,  in  his  village  home,  rather  than 
thus  to  have  crushed  all  hope  forever. 

After  the  English  doctor's  departure,  I  told 
Giannetto,  as  gently  as  I  could,  what  he  had 
said,  adding  that  he  should  see  Dr.  Simon  on  the 
morrow,  so  that  he  should  have  more  than  one 
opinion  on  the  matter.  He  stood  without  moving 
while  I  was  speaking,  and  then,  with  a  gentle, 
subdued  manner,  that  went  to  my  heart  and 
brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes,  he  took  my  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

When  Beppo  came  up  to  put  out  the  lights 
that  night,  I  asked  anxiously  what  Giannetto  was 


26  GIANNETTO. 

doing  down-stairs.  "He  sits  like  a  statue,"  was 
the  reply.  "  I  spoke  to  him ;  I  told  him  the 
English  doctors  knew'  nothing — were  ignorants — 
bah !  one  must  tell  lies  sometimes — and  I  tell 
him  the  Doctor  Simon,  whom  he  will  see  to-mor- 
row, is  a  marvel — a  wonder ;  and  I  think  he  still 
hopes." 

Beppo's  sympathetic  eyes  were  almost  over- 
flowing ;  so  I  did  not  reproach  him,  as  perhaps  I 
ought  to  have  done,  for  still  holding  out  delusive 
hopes. 

The  next  morning  M.  Simon,  the  French  doc- 
tor, called  and  saw  Giannetto,  at  an  hour  earlier 
than  he  had  appointed,  and  unfortunately  while 
I  was  out.  When  I  returned  home  I  was*  met  by 
Beppo  at  the  door,  with  a  face  full  of  consterna- 
tion— Giannetto  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  III. 

1WAS  very  much,  alarmed  when  the  whole  day 
passed,  and  I  heard  and  saw  nothing  of  Gian- 
netto.  I  could  only  hope  and  trust  that  he  had 
gone  straight  home  again.  Beppo  told  me  that 
the  French  doctor  had  been  very  harsh  and 
rough.  "  Why  could  he  not  wait  till  my  return  ?  " 
I  asked ;  for  I  felt  that  my  presence  would  cer- 
tainly have  made  things  easier.  "Ah,  Signor 
rnio,  so  I  said ;  but  he  would  not  wait.  I  told 
him  you  would  be  in  at  once ;  but  he  would  not 
wait.  That  doctor  is  a  beast — a  heart  of  stone 
— a  horror !  '  Morbleu ! '  he  said, '  do  you  take  me 
for  a  saint,  that  I  can  cure  a  man  who  is  dumb 
from  his  birth  ?  Or  would  you  make  a  fool  of  me  ? ' 
They  are  all  alike,  these  doctors ;  they  think  if  a 
poor  fellow  is  of  the  lower  class  they  may  be  as 
insolent  to  him  as  they  like." 

"  And  Giannetto,  how  did  he  bear  it  ?  " 
"Poor  fellow,  he  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched 


23  GIANNETTO. 

his  hands ;  he  went  off  to  the  kitchen,  took  clown 
his  bundle,  and  walked  off  without  so  much  as 
good-day  to  you !  I  called  after  him  to  bid  him 
be  in  for  dinner,  for  I  was  sure  that  the  Signor 
Conte  would  wish  to  see  him  again ;  but  he  paid 
no  attention,  and  walked  straight  on." 

This  was  all  I  could  learn  from  Beppo.  I  next 
went  to  see  Dr.  Simon,  whom  I  found  very  much 
disposed  to  be  impertinent.  I  could  not  help 
reproaching~him  strongly  for  his  harsh  treatment 
of  Giannetto,  and  finally  told  him  of  his  abrupt 
departure,  and  asked  him  what  he  would  feel  if 
he  heard  that  he  had  committed  suicide?  He 
looked  as  much  scared  as  I  had  hoped  he  would 
be,  notwithstanding  his  "Ah,  bah!"  and  I  left 
him  to  digest  the  unpalatable  idea. 

I  was  met  by  Beppo  in  a  sort  of  triumph, 
brandishing  a  broken  piece  of  slate.  Before 
leaving,  Giannetto  had  written  a  few  words  on  it, 
broken  off  the  piece,  and  left  it  lying  on  the 
kitchen  table.  "Dear  and  noble  Sir,"  were  his 
words,  "receive  my  thanks  a  thousand  times  ;  it 
grieves  me  not  to  see  you  again.  I  hasten  home  ; 
for  the  heart  will  not  bear  to  wish  you  good-bye. 
— Giovan-Battista  Nencini." 


GIANNETTO.  29 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  I  determined 
to  make  another  expedition  to  San  Jacopo  before 
finally  leaving  Nice,  and  meantime  to  do  my  best 
to  forget  the  sad  eyes  that  constantly  haunted  me. 

The  late  autumn  waned  into  winter,  and  it 
proved  a  bad,  wet  season.  Helen  caught  fresh 
cold,  and  for  some  time  we  were  very  anxious 
about  her.  We  grew  tired  of  bustling,  dusty  Nice 
— Amy  especially  hated  it ;  the  perpetual  same- 
ness of  the  tideless  sea  wearied  and  dispirited 
her.  It  was  quite  a  relief  when,  one  night,  a 
frightful  storm  came  up :  the  sea  lashed  itself 
into  waves  mountains  high,  which  broke  roaring 
on  to  the  beach ;  the  lightning  played  hissing 
over  their  foam-crowned  tops ;  and  a  never-ceas- 
ing roll  of  thunder  shook  the  purple  pall-like  sky. 
I  stood  out  on  the  balcony,  watching  the  sea,  till 
the  rain  came  on,  suddenly,  tremendously ;  it  fell 
more  like  the  breaking  of  a  waterspout  than  mere 
rain — drenching,  pitiless,  tearing  down  shrubs 
and  trees,  turning  the  roads  into  running  rivers, 
and  the  garden  into  a  sheet  of  water. 

I  stood  watching  it  for  a  long  time,  wondering 
whether  it  would  do  much  harm,  when  it  flashed 
across  me  that  San   Jacopo  must  be  suffering 


30  GIANNETTO. 

severely,  closed  in  as  it  was  by  rocks  and  sea. 
Before  going  to  bed,  I  resolved  to  pay  another 
visit  to  my  friends  there.  But  Vhomme  propose, 
Dieu  dispose.  It  was  more  than  a  month  before 
I  was  able  to  leave  Nice  and  carry  out  my  inten- 
tion. As  before,  I  walked  there,  knapsack  on  my 
back,  spending  about  three  nights  on  the  way. 
The  storm  had  done  considerable  damage  to  the 
main  road,  portions  of  which  had  been  washed 
away,  and  only  rudely  mended  to  allow  the  dili- 
gences to  run ;  some  of  the  bridges  appeared 
actually  dangerous,  torn  and  shaken  as  they  had 
been  by  the  fearful  force  of  the  swollen  torrents. 
Seeing  these  signs  of  devastation,  I  became  more 
uneasy  than  ever  as  I  drew  near  San  Jacopo. 

It  was  on  a  bright  sunny  morning  that  I  ar- 
rived, and  at  sight  of  me  a  general  shout  was 
raised  by  children  of  all  sizes  and  ages,  who  went 
rushing  off  to  tell  the  Curato  that  the  English 
Signore  had  come  back. 

I  walked  on  through  the  streets,  when  I  was 
suddenly  met  by  Carola,  running  as  fast  as  she 
could ;  she  had  heard  from  the  children  of  my 
arrival.  She  caught  hold  of  my  hands,  she  kissed 
them,  crying  between  sobs  and  laughter,  "  Thanks ! 


GIANNETTO.  31 

thanks  be  to  God,  you  are  come  again  !  And  }tou 
bring  me  news?  You  have  seen  him?  You 
know  where  he  is  ?  Did  he  return  to  you  ?  Ah, 
answer  !  answer,  Signore,  for  the  love  of  heaven ! 
my  boy,  is  he  with  you?" 

My  very  heart  turned  cold  within  me.  What ! 
had  he  never  returned  ?  Where  was  he,  then  ? 
Just  as  I  was  about  to  speak,  a  gentle,  firm  hand 
was  laid  on  Carola's  shoulder,  and  the  good  Gu- 
rato,  parting  the  little  crowd  of  children  who  were 
gaping  round  us,  took  me  by  the  hand  and  drew 
me  into  the  nearest  house.  Carola  followed,  re- 
peating constantly,  "  Answer,  Signore  ! — dear  Sig- 
nore, answer  !  where  is  he  ?  " 

I  turned  breathlessly  to  the  priest,  "And  do 
you  mean  that  he  has  never  been  home?" 

"Yes,  yes — he  has  been  home  ;  but  he  has  gone 
again,  and  you  then  have  not  seen  him  lately?" 
"Alas!  no" — and  poor  Carola  sank  down  on  a 
chair,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  An- 
other woman,  the  owner  of  the  house,  whom  I 
had  not  noticed  before,  but  who,  I  afterwards 
learned,  was  Pietro's  wife,  Baldovinetta  Zei,  sat 
down  by  her,  and,  unable  to  offer  any  consola- 
tion, stroked  her  hand  and  cried  also. 


32  CIANNETTO. 

The  Curato  looked  sadly  changed,  as  if  years 
had  passed  over  his  head  in  those  few  months. 
He  glanced  pityingly  at  the  women,  and  then 
said,  "Since  Yossignoria  has  nothing  to  tell  them, 
perhaps  he  will  follow  me.  I  should  like  to  tell 
him  what  has  passed,  and  hear  what  he  thinks  of 
it." 

I  rose  and  followed  him.  As  we  left  the  house, 
I  heard  a  little  low  cry  from  Carola.  Alas  !  she 
saw  in  my  departure  the  vanishing  of  another 
hope. 

The  streets  were  crowded  with  people,  watch- 
ing me  curiously  as  I  followed  the  priest,  who  led 
me  straight  through  the  piazza  to  his  own  house. 
We  entered,  and  with  a  movement  of  his  hand  he 
bade  me  be  seated. 

It  was  a  small  square  room,  the  walls  washed 
with  yellow  paint,  and  adorned  with  a  series  of 
colored  prints  of  the  stations  of  the  Cross.  Over 
the  little  stove  hung  a  rudely-carved  wooden  cru- 
cifix. The  only  ornament  in  the  room  consisted 
of  a  little  colored  wax  figure  of  the  infant  Saviour 
asleep,  lying  under  a  glass  case,  and  with  two 
brass  vases  of  gaudy  artificial  flowers  on  each 
side  of  it.     The  furniture,  a  square  deal  table  and 


GIANNETTO.  33 

two  wooden  chairs,  was  of  the  roughest  descrip- 
tion. 

The  priest  seated  himself  opposite  to  rne,  and 
leaning  his  arms  on  the  table,  fixed  his  eyes  on 
my  face,  and  said,  very  impressively,  "Will  Vos- 
signoria  tell  me  exactly  what  the  doctors  said?" 
I  repeated  their  opinions  as  nearly,  word  for 
word,  as  I  could  recollect.  The  priest  shuddered 
slightly,  and  repeated,  to  my  surprise,  "And  Vos- 
signoria  assures  me,  on  his  sacred  word  of  honor, 
that  the  doctors  declared  a  cure  to  be  impossible  ?  " 
"It  is  too  true,"  I  answered;  "they  laughed  at 
the  very  idea.  They  pronounced  the  dumbness 
to  proceed  from  a  defect,  an  incompleteness  (if 
you  may  so  call  it),  which  no  science  can  remedy 
— that  it  is  impossible,  in  short,  that  he  should 
obtain  the  power  of  speech  now,  or  at  any  future 
time." 

The  priest  was  silent  for  a  moment,  evidently 
thinking  deeply ;  then  he  turned  to  me  and  said, 
"Vossignoria  will  be  astonished  at  what  I  have 
to  tell  him,  and  perhaps  he  may  be  able  to  help 
me  to  understand  it.  He  remembers,  doubtless, 
that  it  was  on  the  Monday  morning  that  poor 
Giannetto  left  Nice  :  well,  he  must  have  walked 
3 


34  GIANNETTO. 

niglit  and  day ;  for  on  Wednesday,  after  I  had 
finished  celebrating  low  mass,  I  found  him  crouch- 
ed upon  his  knees  in  a  corner  of  the  church,  hav- 
ing stolen  in  unobserved.  He  looked  ill,  but  very 
ill,  with  a  somewhat  of  despair  in  his  face,  which 
alarmed  us  all.  For  days  he  crept  about  his 
work  like  one  in  a  dreara.  At  that  season  the 
fish  came  in  in  shoals,  and  the  village  was  very 
prosperous.  I  had  at  this  time  many  talks  with 
Pietro — I  entreated.  I  implored  him  to  let  Gian- 
netto  alone,  and  I  believe  that  he  did ;  at  least, 
he  promised  me  he  would  do  so  :  but,  alas  !  youth 
is  youth.  I  have  reason  to  think  that  there  was 
occasional  ridicule  at  Giannetto's  folly  in  having 
hoped  to  be  cured,  and  that  more  than  once  he 
overheard  it.  On  one  occasion,  for  instance,  a 
man  came  to  the  village  who  had  been  a  singer  in 
the  chorus  at  the  opera  at  Florence.  He  was  a 
good-natured,  merry  fellow;  he  laughed,  and 
joked,  and  sang  incessantly.  Alas  !  my  poor  Gi- 
annetto,  he  has  a  passionate  love  for  music  !  He 
was  never  tired  of  listening  ;  and  when  the  singer 
sung,  his  face  became  quite  softened  and  happy. 
The  man  only  stayed  two  days,  and  then  went 
away.    The  fishermen,  I  fear — I  am  sure — laughed 


GIANNETTO.  35 

at  Giannetto  a  good  deal  about  that ;  but  they 
did  uot  see  hiui  afterwards  as  I  did,  lying  face 
downwards  in  the  vineyard,  weeping  his  very 
heart  out.  I  was  glad — yes,  Signore,  strange  as 
you  may  think  it,  I  was  glad  to  see  him  weep,  for 
I  hoped  that  it  would  soften  the  hardness  of  his 
despair.  Alas  !  has  Vossignoria  ever  seen  a  tor- 
rent burst  its  bed  and  tear  down  shrubs  and  trees 
in  its  headlong  career  ?  Santi  Ajpostoli  !  such  a 
torrent  was  the  grief  of  my  Giannetto.  It  left 
the  rock  more  bare  and  hard  than  before,  and 
swept  away  the  small  herbs  and  flowers,  the  lit- 
tle charities  of  life,  till  I  scarcely  knew  him  again. 
Alas !  he  was  to  me  as  a  dear  son,  and  I  have 
borne  with  him  in  patience  and  in  tears." 

Much  moved,  I  held  out  my  hand  to  the  priest, 
who  pressed  it  gratefully,  and  resumed  his  story. 

"Without  doubt,  Vossignoria  saw  something  of 
the  frightful  storm  we  had ;  it  is  now  a  month 
ago.  Alas !  it  has  put  an  end  to  the  prosperity 
of  the  place  for  a  long  time  to  come.  Has  the 
Signore  observed  more  than  half  the  olive-trees 
are  gone  ?  and  we  looked  much  to  them  for  help 
when  times  were  bad.  Old  Nicolo's  cottage,  that 
stood  near  the  hill  in  its  own  little  vineyard,  was 


36  GIANNETTO. 

completely  washed  away.  Has  Vossignoria  re- 
marked a  little  thread  of  water  which  comes  down 
the  hill  just  above  the  town  ?  Well,  that  stream 
became  a  raging  river.  By  the  mercy  of  God  it 
did  not  burst  the  embankment  behind  the  church, 
but  it  carried  away  Nicolo's  cottage  and  many  a 
shed,  and  destroyed  the  gardens,  and,  worst  of 
all,  drowned  two  of  the  poor  mules  ;  their  bodies 
drifted  out  to  the  sea,  and  we  saw  them  no  more. 
The  storm  began  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
and  at  the  first  sign  of  its  approach,  the  boats  all 
came  homewards  swiftly  as  birds  on  the  wing.  I 
stood  on  the  shore  and  counted  them  as  they 
came  in,  one  after  another,  and  the  women  stood 
with  me  watching.  The  morning  had  been  fine 
and  clear,  and  many  of  the  boats  had  gone  far 
out  to  sea — much  further  than  usual — and  we 
were  very  anxious.  About  seven  o'clock  the  sea 
rose  frightfully,  and  three  or  four  of  the  boats 
were  still  missing — Masaniello's,  our  oldest  fish- 
erman, Pietro's,  Andrea  Castagno's,  and  Gian- 
netto's.-  The  wind  was  so  high,  that  many  a  time 
we  had  to  He  flat  on  the  beach  to  avoid  being 
blown  off  our  feet;  and  the  women  wept  and 
wailed  incessantly.      About  half-past  seven  the 


GIANNETTO.  37 

broken  timbers  of  a  boat  were  washed  ashore. 
All !  if  you  had  seen  how  the  women  flung  them- 
selves upon  them,  and  almost  fought  as  they 
strove  to  recognize  the  fragments.  Alas  !  a  fear- 
ful cry  from  poor  Andrea's  wife  told  that  she 
knew  only  too  well  that  she  was  now  a  widow. 
Andrea's  boat  had  been  old  and  crazy,  and  he 
was  building  a  new  one — poor  fellow !  He  was 
not  a  good  man,  but  she  loved  him,  after  the 
fashion  of  women.  His  body  was  washed  up  on 
the  bank  the  next  morning,  about  a  mile  from 
here  along  the  coast.  Later  still,  Masaniello 
came  in  ;  he  had  fought  hard  for  his  life,  and  was 
quite  exhausted.  We  were  now  but  three  on  the 
beach  ;  and  it  was  so  dark,  that  but  for  the  fitful 
glare  of  the  lightning  we  could  have  seen  nothing. 
The  two  women,  Carola  and  Baldovinetta,  clung 
to  each  other,  and  I  stood  by  them.  Santa  Ma- 
ria !  it  was  a  fearful  night !  All  through  those 
long  hours  we  kept  the  church-bell  ringing — I 
hoped  it  might  be  some  help  in  guiding  the  boats. 
About  twelve  o'clock  we  heard  a  loud  shout, 
which  resounded  even  through  the  roar  of  the 
thunder,  and  a  flash  of  lightning  showed  us  a  lit- 
tle boat,  tossed  like  a  nut-shell  from  wave  to 


38  GIANNETTO. 

wave,  but  coming  steadily  onward.  It  was  hard 
to  bear  the  long  pauses  of  complete  darkness  in 
that  terrible  suspense,  and  I  could  only  help  by 
kneeling  and  praying  aloud.  At  last  there  came 
a  crash  on  the  shingle,  a  cry  of  exultation,  and 
Pietro  and  Baldovinetta  were  in  each  other's 
arms.  Thanks  be  to  God!  thanks,  thanks,  O 
Madre  Santissima,  he  was  saved  ! " 

The  priest  paused  in  his  narrative,  and  I  could 
scarcely  control  my  impatience.  To  my  surprise, 
he  suddenly  turned  to  me  again,  and  said,  "Yos- 
signoria  is  quite  certain  about  what  the  doctors 
said? — there  can  be  no  mistake? — other  doctors 
would  have  said  the  same?"  "Quite  certain,"  I 
repeated — I  fear  somewhat  impatiently.  "  It  was 
a  fool's  errand  from  the  first ;  the  case  is  abso- 
lutely an  incurable  one.  But  finish,  I  beg  of  you, 
finish  your  stoiy." 

The  priest  looked  at  me  wistfully.  "  Alas  ! "  he 
said,  "  there  is  then  no  doubt  that  it  could  not  be 
cured?  But  pardon,  a  thousand  pardons!  you 
wish  me  to  continue.  Well,  all  night  long  Carola 
and  I  waited  on  the  beach ;  she  seated  herself  on 
the  ground,  clasping  her  hands  round  her  knees, 
and  watching  in  agony.     About  two  o'clock  the 


GIANNETTO.  39 

storm  began  to  abate,  and  the  clouds  broke ;  a 
wild  moon  broke  out,  and  shone  fitfully  on  the 
boiling  waves.  The  moon  grew  paler,  and  the 
first  sign  of  dawn  began  to  streak  the  heavens ; 
the  wind  sank  to  a  hollow  moaning  murmur,  and 
we  sat  on,  waiting  and  watching.  Maria  Santis- 
sima !  it  was  fearful !  As  the  light  increased,  I 
could  see  Carola's  face — it  was  like  that  of  the 
dead;  she  could  scarcely  speak — her  voice 
sounded  faint  and  far  off. 

"As  the  morning  drew  slowly  on,  it  became 
bitterly  cold ;  and,  worn  out  and  drenched  as  she 
was,  I  tried  to  persuade  Carola  to  go  indoors,  but 
she  would  not ;  she  sat  rocking  herself  backwards 
and  forwards,  and  moaning.  At  last — and  how 
long  it  was  it  is  difficult  to  tell — I  heard  a  sound 
from  the  sea  as  of  singing,  the  strange  wild  sing- 
ing of  something  that  was  rather  a  sound  than  a 
song!  Carola  shuddered  violently  and  grasped 
my  arm,  'What  is  that?'  she  cried;  'Santa  Ma- 
donna! what  can  that  be?'  I  know  not  why, 
but  an  indescribable  horror  seemed  to  seize  on 
me  also.  'It  is  nothing,  Carola,  nothing  at  all,'  I 
kept  saying.  We,  however,  strained  our  eyes 
through  the  gloom,  and,  oh  heaven !  we  saw  a  boat 


40  GIANNETTO. 

coming  towards  us,  at  one  time  riding  on  the 
waves,  at  another  disappearing  in  the  deep 
trough.  Heaven  help  me,  I  cannot  think  of  it 
now !  It  was  washed  in  to  our  very  feet ;  and 
Giannetto,  our  Giannetto,  stood  safe  and  in  life 
before  us !  Signor  Conte,  Signore,  you  shall  not 
say — you  cannot  say,  it  was  incurable!  His 
tongue  was  loosened.  I  repeat,  it  could  not  have 
been  incurable — for  he  spake  plain!" 

The  perspiration  stood  like  beads  on  the  brow 
of  the  priest,  and  he  grasped  my  arm — "  What  do 
you  think  of  it  ?  Answer !  say — will  you  not  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  it?" 

What  could  I  say?  I  never  was  so  astonished 
in  my  life.  I  could  only  repeat,  "Cured,  you 
say?  cured?" 

"Yes,  yes,  cured — why  not?  I  repeat,  why 
not?     Nobody  can  say  a  thing  is  incurable!" 

"It  is  wonderful,  marvelous!  And  Giannetto, 
he  is  happy?  he  is  enraptured — grateful?" 

"Alas ! "  answered  the  priest,  loosening  his  hold 
on  my  arm,  and  sinking  back  in  his  chair,  "  a  very 
strange  and  fearful  change  has  come  over  Gian- 
netto. The  day  after  our  wonderful  deliverance, 
I  held  a  thanksgiving  service.     I  had  services  all 


GIANNETTO.  41 

day  long.  My  parishioners  flocked  into  the 
church — they  knelt  all  day ;  all  were  there,  from 
Masaniello  down  to  Tonino,  Pietro's  youngest 
child.  Giannetto  alone  was  missing.  I  went  in 
search  of  him ;  I  pointed  out  to  him  that,  of  all, 
he  was  the- one  from  whom  most  thanks  were  due. 
He  refused ;  he  turned  on  his  heel  with  a  scorn- 
ful gesture ;  nothing  would  induce  him  to  enter 
the  church.  Not  a  word  of  thanksgiving  has  he 
offered  since,  nor  would  he  listen  to  counsel  from 
myself.  The  neighbors  who  had  mocked  him 
before  now  shunned  and  avoided  him,  and  even 
Carola  grew  terrified.  It  is  now  a  week  that  he 
has  been  gone ;  he  kissed  his  mother  coldly,  as  if 
all  love  for  her  was  dead  in  his  heart ;  he  passed 
Pietro  in  the  street  with  a  low-breathed  curse; 
and  we  have  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  him  since. 
God  forgive  him!  terrible  fears  haunt  me  at 
times  that  all  is  not  with  him  as  it  should  be — 
that  God  has  for  a  while  forgotten  him,  or  given 
him  over  to  the  powers  of  evil.  But,  for  pity's 
sake,  do  not  repeat  that  the  doctors  said  that  it 
was  incurable ;  it  could  not  be  that  it  was  incur- 
able. Giannetto,  my  son,  my  son !  rather  had  I 
seen  thee  washed  dead  to  my  feet,  than  have  lived 
to  hear  thee  forswear  the  God  that  made  thee ! " 


42 


GIANNETTO. 


I  was  horrified  by  the  strange  words  of  the 
priest ;  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more  it  puz- 
zled me. 

"Then  Giannetto  gave  no  account  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  recovered  his  speech?  no  explan- 
ation whatever?" 

"None.  He  absolutely  refused  to  answer  any 
questions ;  it  was  his  own  affair,  he  said.  Poor 
Carola!  At  first  her  joy  was  very  great,  but  it 
was  soon  dashed  to  the  ground;  for  Giannetto 
was  no  longer  the  dutiful  and  tender  son  she  had 
loved  so  well.  I  cannot,  cannot  understand  it. 
I  try  not  to  think  about  it,  for  it  makes  me  hard 
and  bitter  towards  Pietro  and  his  friends.  I 
cannot  help  fearing  that  it  is  to  a  great  degree 
owing  to  their  cruel  taunts  that  he  has  been 
tempted  into  something  wild  and  accursed." 

It  was  indeed  a  strange  story,  and  left  me  with 
an  uneasy  feeling — a  vain  wish  that  my  own  part 
in  the  tragedy  had  been  left  unplayed.  I  left 
money  with  the  priest,  who  was  very  grateful,  for 
times  were  no  longer  so  prosperous  at  San  Jacopo 
as  they  had  been;  and  I  returned  to  Nice  sad  and 
bewildered. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

FIVE  or  six  years  passed  in  England  of  a  busy 
life  had  almost  effaced  any  recollection  of 
Giannetto  from  my  mind;  or,  I  should  perhaps 
say,  had  reduced  the  whole  strange  story  to  a 
sort  of  dream. 

Amy  was  married  ;  Helen  had  quite  recovered 
her  health;  and  nothing  had  occurred  to  cause 
our  return  to  Nice,  when  we  suddenly  made  up 
our  minds  to  go  to  Italy  for  the  winter,  for  the 
pleasure  of  the  change.  Eor  a  long  time  I  hesi- 
tated between  Eome  and  Florence,  finally  deciding 
in  favor  of  the  latter,  as  being  the  best  for  masters 
for  Helen.  We  at  first  thought  of  going  by  the 
Riviera  route,  in  order  to  revisit  our  old  haunts; 
but,  hearing  that  we  were  likely  to  be  delayed  by 
the  badness  of  the  roads,  we  changed  our  minds, 
and  crossed  Mont  Cenis,  taking  our  way  straight 
to  Florence.  Some  friends  had  already  secured 
us  a  villa  half-way  up  to  Fiesole,  and  there  we 
took  up  our  abode. 


44  GIANNETTO. 

Those  who  know  Florence  as  it  is  now,  can 
scarcely  realize  what  it  used  to  be  before  the  in- 
numerable changes  and  innovations,  especially 
on  the  side  of  Fiesole.  It  is  sad  to  miss  those 
grand  old  walls,  throwing  their  deep  cool  shadows 
over  the  houses ;  and  your  recollections  are  con- 
founded by  finding  yourself  wandering  in  streets 
and  squares,  where  in  former  days  the  country,  as 
it  were,  kissed  the  town. 

Our  villa  was  lovely.  About  half-way  up  the 
ascent  to  Fiesole  you  come  upon  a  little  village, 
grouped  picturesquely  round  its  church,  San 
Domenico  by  name.  The  road  leading  up  to  it 
is  bordered  by  cypress  hedges ;  and  here,  as  one 
walks,  one  invariably  finds  a  small  flock  of  lean, 
bearded  goats  stretching  their  almost  unnaturally 
long  bodies  to  crop  the  uppermost  shoots.  Be- 
fore reaching  the  church,  you  turn  to  the  right 
down  a  rather  steep  lane,  and  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  brings  you  to  the  gate  of  our  villa. 

The  view  over  the  Val  d'Arno  was  a  constant 
source  of  delight  to  us ;  for  hours  we  sat  on  the 
terrace  outside  our  windows  sketching,  impatient 
at  the  impossibility  of  transferring  to  paper  those 
soft  and  delicate  tints.     I  have  heard  some  peo- 


GIAXNETTO.  45 

pie  complain  of  the  sameness  of  Florentine  color- 
ing, and  it  is  possible  that  it  may  be  so ;  but  the 
sameness  is  inexpressibly  beautiful,  the  cool  gray 
of  the  dusky  olive-trees  giving  the  tone  to  the 
whole  country.  Every  evening  the  setting  sun 
flooded  the  valley,  till  it  seemed  to  float  in  lilac 
and  crimson ;  and  far  away  on  the  clear  horizon, 
faintly  shadowed  out,  you  have  the  broken  lines 
of  the  Carrara  mountains.  That  was  the  hour 
for  hopelessly  throwing  brush  and  easel  aside, 
and  drinking  in  the  scene  with  an  ecstasy  one 
seldom  knows  out  of  Italy:  it  fades,  it  passes 
away,  that  wondrous  glow;  and  far  and  near, 
from  the  great  bells  of  the  Duomo  in  the  plain, 
to  the  faint  tinkling  sound  from  the  convent  high 
above  iis  on  the  heights  of  Fiesole,  comes  the 
summons  to  prayer,  and  every  peasant  removes 
his  hat,  and  lays  down  his  tools,  to  cross  himself 
and  mutter  an  "  Ave  Maria." 

We  led  a  quiet,  uneventful  life  that  winter. 
Every  morning  Helen  drove  down  into  Florence 
to  her  lessons,  or  had  masters  at  the  villa ;  and 
we  sometimes  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  sight-see- 
ing in  the  town,  or  wandering  in  the  country 
round. 


£Q  GIANNETTO. 

One  day  Beppo  came  into  my  room,  flourish- 
ing a  paper  wildly  in  his  hand.  "  Signor  Conte, 
Signor  Conte ! "  he  shouted — "  mad  that  I  am,  I 
forgot  to  show  you  this ;  and  now  it  will  be  too 
late  to  take  tickets.  It  was  that  cook;  he  has 
been  worrying  again  with  his  eternal  demands 
for  more  cognac  for  his  puddings.  Little  enough 
of  it  goes  into  our  dining-room,  I  tell  him.  And 
I  forgot  to  show  the  Signor  Conte  this" — and  he 
began  reading  in  a  loud  voice,  '"For  two  nights 
only.  The  famous  p rimo  tenorc,  Signor  Giovanni.' 
And  the  Signore  has  never  heard  him !  What  a 
chance — and  thrown  away  owing  to  that  maledctto 
cook! " 

"  What  is  it,  Beppo?  who  is  he?  " 

"Who  is  he?  What!  has  not  the  Signore 
heard  of  the  new  tenor — the  singer  who  has  made 
such  &  furor  in  Kussia,  and  who  has  now  come  to 
sing  for  the  first  time  in  Italy,  though  he  is  an 
Italian  born  and  bred?" 

"I  have  heard  of  him,  papa,"  cried  Helen, 
"and  I  should  so  much  like  to  hear  him.  My 
master  gave  him  some  lessons  two  years  ago,  and 
he  says  that  he  is  the  most  magnificent  tenore  di 
form  he  ever  heard  in  his  life." 


GIANNETTQ.  47 

"True,  it  is  quite  true,  Signorina.  It  is  said 
that  when  you  have  heard  him  sing-,  you  can 
listen  to  no  one  else.  And  he  has  studied  both 
at  the  Scala  and  in  Russia.  But  speak  only,  and 
I  fly  to  see  whether  it  is  too  late  to  secure  places. 
The  Grand  Duke  himself  is  to  be  there." 

I  gave  Beppo  permission,  and  he  darted  off. 
Alas !  it  was  too  late ;  every  seat  was  taken  in 
the  Pergola  theatre.  Helen  was  much  disap- 
pointed ;  but  she  insisted  upon  my  walking  down 
on  the  chance  of  being  able  to  get  in,  to  stand  at 
least  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  report  whether 
the  new  tenor  was  really  as  great  a  singer  as  he 
was  supposed  to  be.  In  vain  I  assured  her  that 
wherever  we  might  go,  these  great  singers  were 
sure  to  appear  in  time,  in  all  probability  in  Lon- 
don, the  very  next  season.  She  insisted,  and — 
prevailed. 

It  was  such  a  fine,  cold,  frosty  evening,  that  I 
enjoyed  the  walk  down  to  Florence  very  much. 
I  went  rather  late  to  the  opera-house,  and  found, 
as  I  had  expected,  not  a  single  vacant  seat — some, 
indeed,  had  been  doubly  let  for  half  the  night  to 
each  person.  Just,  however,  as  I  was  turning 
away,  the  box-keeper  called  me  back.     "  Look 


48  GIANNETTO. 

you,  Signore,"  he  said;  "there  is  a  little  space — a 
very  little  space — within  the  door,  where  I  have 
not  yet  put  a  chair.  Would  the  Signore  mind 
having  a  stool — a  very  little  stool — put  in  there 
for  him  to  sit  on?  He  will  not  see  very  well; 
but,  after  all,  one  comes  to  hear  these  things,  not 
to  see."  At  this  moment  a  burst  of  applause, 
loud  and  long,  resounded  through  the  house ;  and, 
my  curiosity  vividly  excited,  I  accepted  the  offer 
of  the  box-keeper,  and  seated  myself  on  the  stool 
— the  truly  "very  little  stool" — he  provided  for 
me. 

Every  one  knows  how  critical  is  a  Florentine 
audience- — how  unforgiving  if  time  and  tune  are 
not  perfect — how  chary  of  their  applause,  how 
lavish  of  their  hisses;  but  to-night  the  whole 
house  was  carried  away  by  its  enthusiasm. 

The  piece  was  "Lucrezia  Borgia;"  and  as  I 
came  in,  Giovanni  was  singing  "  Di  pescator 
ignobile."  It  was  the  most  lovely  voice  I  could 
have  imagined — round,  and  full,  and  sweet — evi- 
dently having  reached  its  full  perfection ;  the 
style  also  was  highly  finished ;  there  was  no 
rawness,  no  want  of  study, — all  that  art,  com- 
Vined  with  the  rarest  natural  gifts,  could  do, 


GIANNETTO.  49 

made  the  new  tenor's  singing  the  most  beautiful 
thing  I  could  have  dreamed  of. 

The  time  passed  only  too  quickly,  and  the  first 
two  acts  were  over  before  I  began  to  look  about 
me.  At  this  moment  the  head  of  the  box-keeper 
was  suddenly  thrust  in  at  the  door,  and  he  broke 
in  abruptly  on  my  meditations. 

"  Signore,  Signore  Inglese !  will  he  look  at 
that  box  at  the  end? — no,  not  that  one  —  the 
stage-box.  Does  he  see  a  lady  there— a  young 
lady,  with  an  old  lady  beside  her  ?  That  is  Sig- 
nora  Giovanni,  the  wife  of  the  primo  tenore. 
Beautiful,  is  she  not  ?  And  that  is  her  mother, 
Signora  Celeste.  They  have  taken  that  box  for 
both  nights — they  say  she  always  goes  to  hear 
her  husband  sing ;  and  she  waits  in  the  carriage 
for  him  to  come  out  when  it  is  over." 

"Is  she  an  Italian?"  I  asked. 

"  Italian  ?  Most  certainly.  She  is  Floren- 
tine ;  her  father  is  an  impiegato ;  he  holds  office 
under  the  Government — a  man  of  position  here, 
the  Cavaliere  Mattei ;  and  it  was  thought  a  poor 
marriage  for  one  of  his  daughters,  when,  two 
years  ago,  she  took  an  opera-singer  as  her  hus- 
band. But,  Cospetto !  she  is  likely  to  be  the 
richest  of  the  family." 


50  GIANNETTO. 

The  man  withdrew  his  head  as  abruptly  as  it 
had  been  protruded  ;  and,  with  enhanced  curios- 
ity, I  raised  my  glass  to  look  at  the  occupants 
of  the  stage-box. 

Signora  Celeste  was  what  most  Italian  women 
become  after  a  certain  age,  singularly  ugly  and 
haggard,  a  perfect  foil  to  her  daughter  who  sat 
beside  her.  Signora  Giovanni  could  not  have 
been  more  than  eighteen  or  nineteen  at  that 
time,  but  she  looked  older.  The  contour  of  her 
face  was  perfect,  her  eyes  very  large,  and  so 
dark,  that  they  made  the  clear  olive  complexion 
yet  paler  by  the  contrast.  She  was  dressed  in 
black,  and  wore  the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair 
turned  back  from  her  brow,  after  the  fashion  of 
almost  all  Florentine  women.  But  I  was  even 
more  charmed  by  the  extreme  sweetness  of  her 
expression  than  by  her  beauty,  which  was  very 
considerable. 

Giovanni  was  ill  supported  on  the  stage. 
Binda,  the  bass,  was  a  loud  and  rather  rough 
singer;  the  prima  donna  sang  well,  though  her 
voice  was  past  its  prime ;  and  the  contralto  was 
mediocre  :  but  the  public  had  only  eyes  and  ears 
for  him,  and  good-naturedly  ignored  their  short- 


GIANNETTO.  51 

comings.  Giovanni  was  a  fine-looking  man,  and 
apparently  made  no  use  of  the  paints  and  artifi- 
cial helps  to  good  looks  generally  supposed  to  be 
indispensable  on  the  stage. 

While  I  was  looking  at  him,  it  suddenly  occur- 
red to  me  that  somehow — somewhere  —  I  had 
seen  him  before,  and  I  could  not  get  rid  of  the 
impression.  So  strong  was  it,  that  I  determined 
to  wait  outside  after  the  performance  for  the 
chance  of  seeing  him  in  plain  clothes,  and  satis- 
fying my  curiosity. 

The  piece  ended,  and  the  people  flocked  out. 
I  stood  in  the  lobby,  idly  watching  them  as  they 
passed,  and  listening  to  their  remarks.  The 
crowd  gave  way  a  little,  and  Signora  Celeste  and 
her  daughter  passed  through  and  entered  their 
carriage,  which  drove  off  a  little  way,  and  then 
stopped  ( as  the  box-keeper  had  told  me )  to  wait 
for  Giovanni. 

At  last  the  whole  audience  had  slowly  dis- 
persed, and  I  began  to  think  myself  a  fool,  and 
prepared  to  start  homewards,  when  I  heard 
voices  behind  me,  and  the  prima  dunnas  car- 
riage was  called  for.  She  came  sweeping  for- 
ward,  her    scarlet    houmous    thrown    over    one 


52  GIANNETTO. 

shoulder.  "  Bravo,  Signor  Giovanni ! "  she  said 
as  she  passed,  glancing  back  at  the  rest  of  the 
singers  who  were  following  her. 

Giovanni  bowed  gravely. 

"Corpodi  Bacco,  what  bitter  cold!"  muttered 
Binda,  as  he  took  Giovanni's  arm  and  drew  his 
cloak  round  him.  The  truth  flashed  across  me, 
and  suddenly,  without  thinking,  I  exclaimed 
aloud,  "Giannetto!"  The  great  tenor  started 
violently  and  looked  round  at  me.  He  made, 
however,  no  "sign  of  recognition,  but  walked  on 
down  the  street  with  his  companions.  I  heard 
Binda's  deep  voice — "Good  night,  my  friend," 
and  Giovanni's  short  answer,  "The  same  to  you;" 
and  then,  concluding  that  I  was  mistaken,  and 
had  been  deceived  by  a  casual  resemblance,  I  lit 
a  cigar,  and  turned  towards  Fiesole. 

%I  heard  swift  steps  behind  me,  and  felt  my 
hands  grasped  suddenh'.  "Signore,  Signor 
Conte!  is  it  really  you?" 

"Then  it  is  Giannetto!"  I  exclaimed;  "will 
wonders  never  cease?" 

"Hush,  hush!"  said  the  tenor,  looking  uneasily 
round  him,  and  especially  at  the  carriage,  which 
still  waited  a  little  way  down  the  street.     "The 


GIANNETTO.  53 

Sismore  will  understand — circumstances  alter. 
There  are  times  when  it  is  best  not  to  remember 
too  much — he  has  understood?" 

"I  understand,"  I  answered  rather  sadly. 
"But,  Signor  Giovanni,  come  and  see  me  at 
home  ;  I  should  like  to  see  you  again  where  we 
can  converse  more  easily."  "Willingly,  most 
willingly,"  he  answered.  I  gave  him  my  address ; 
and,  grasping  my  hand  cordially,  he  left  me.  I 
watched  his  slight  active  figure  as  he  went  down 
the  street,  jumped  into  the  carriage,  and  drove 
off;  and,  hardly  believing  that  I  could  be  in  my 
right  senses,  I  returned  home. 

The  next  morning  I  told  Helen  what  had  hap- 
pened. She  was  astonished  beyond  measure. 
We  tried  once  more  to  get  seats  in  the  opera- 
house  for  Giovanni's  last  performance,  but  did 
not  succeed,  much  to  her  disappointment. 

When  three  or  four  days  had  passed  without 
my  hearing  or  seeing  anything  of  Giannetto,  I 
began  to  think  that  he  wished  to  avoid  me.  I 
heard  of  him  everywhere  in  Florence,  received 
and  courted  in  society,  and  very  popular.  His 
wife  went  with  him,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  ac- 
companying   him   on    the   pianoforte    when  he 


54  GIAXNETTO. 

vouchsafed  to  sing  in  a  private  house — a  favor  but 
seldom  conferred. 

One  day,  however,  towards  the  end  of  the 
week,  a  little  open  fly  drove  up  to  the  door ;  and 
Beppo,  in  a  slightly  awe-struck  voice,  announced 
Signor  Giovanni. 

I  looked  at  Beppo,  and  saw  that  he  felt  very 
much  puzzled.  I  fancied  he  had  recognized 
Giannetto,  and  hastily  sent  Helen  after  him  to 
wTarn  him  not  to  say  a  word  to  his  fellow-servants 
till  I  had  had  time  to  speak  to  him. 

I  motioned  to  Giannetto  to  seat  himself,  which 
he  did  so  much  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman  and 
equal,  that  I  was  more  and  more  astonished. 

"I  must  apologize,  Signor  Conte,"  he  began, 
"for  not  having  sooner  availed  myself  of  your 
permission  to  call  upon  you  ;  but  }-ou  are  doubt- 
less aware  that  a  man  in  my  position  has  engage- 
ments he  cannot  ascape  from — and  I  study  much 
still,  for  I  have  had  to  combat  with  a  certain  in- 
flexibility of  voice,  which  at  last  begins  to  yield." 

"Inflexibility!"  I  exclaimed,  "surely — " 

He  smiled.  "I  am  rejoiced  that  you  did  not 
remark  it." 

At  the  risk  of  being  thought  inquisitive,  and 


GIANNETTO.  55 

possibly  impertinent,  I  could  not  help  saying, 
"Giannetto,  ever  since  I  first  saw  you,  I  have 
felt  the  deepest  interest  in  your  career ;  would  it 
annoy  you  were  I  to  ask  how  you  attained  your 
present  position — in  short,  what  your  history  has 
been  since  you  left  San  Jacopo?" 

"Signor  Conte,"  he  answered,  "you  have  but 
to  command — I  will  tell  you." 

"First,"  I  began  hesitatingly — "believe  me,  it 
is  not  idle  curiosity  that  prompts  my  question — 
can  you  not  tell  me  in  what  manner  your  voice 
was  restored?  " 

He  made  a  haughty  and  impatient  movement, 
and  the  red  blood  mounted  into  his  face,  dyeing 
it  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair. 

I  saw  I  had  gone  too  far.  "I  ask  a  thousand 
pardons,"  I  began;  but  he  cut  me  short.  "It  is 
unnecessary,"  he  said.  "The  Signor  Conte  has 
a  right  to  ask  what  he  pleases.  I  must  also 
reserve  to  myself  the  option  of  answering  or  re- 
maining silent  as  I  think  necessary,  and  on  this 
sole  point  I  cannot  satisf}*  him. 

"When  I  left  San  Jacopo  I  had  but  a  few  lire 
in  my  pocket.  They  were,  however,  enough  to 
enable  me  to  get  to  Turin,  walking  all  the  way. 


56  GIANNETTO. 

I  was  at  first  almost  starved ;  but  I  kept  up  heart, 
learned  one  or  two  of  the  popular  songs  of  the 
year,  and  sang  them  in  the  cafes  of  the  poor 
people  for  a  few  soldi  at  a  time.  The  Signor 
Conte  has  heard  my  voice — it  was  as  good  then 
as  it  is  now,  though,  certainly,  it  was  quite  uncul- 
tivated. It  gained  me  a  small  reputation  which 
spread  rapidly. 

"  At  last,  one  day  I  was  sent  for  by  an  Ameri- 
can gentleman,  who  had  heard  of  me  through  his 
servants.  "Who  or  what  he  was  I  know  not ;  he 
was  a  certain  Smit  of  Boston.  He  made  me  sing 
to  him,  and  then  offered  to  pay  for  a  musical  edu- 
cation for  me,  at  Milan,  at  Florence — in  short, 
wherever  I  would — provided  that  I  would  bind 
myself  ten  years  to  pay  him  the  half  of  all  I 
should  gain  from  the  time  when  my  education 
should  be  completed.  I  asked  for  time  to  con- 
sider his  proposal,  and  consulted  a  certain  Nico- 
lini,  a  music-seller,  with  whom  I  had  made  a  sort 
of  acquaintance.  He  strongly  advised  me  to 
refuse,  which  I  did,  though  it  was  much  against 
my  own  inclination. 

"The  American  left  Turin.  I  then  offered 
myself  at  the  opera  as  a  chorus-singer,  and  in 


UIANNETTO.  57 

that  way  earned  enough  to  get  through  the  year. 
At  last,  to  my  astonishment,  the  manager  of  the 
theatre  offered  to  pay  for  my  education  if  I  would 
undertake  to  sing  in  his  theatre  for  three  months 
a  year  for  five  years,  after  I  became  a  singer. 

"I  again  consulted  Nicolini,  who  this  time 
advised  me  to  accept.  I  chose  the  Scala  by  his 
advice,  and  studied  hard,  supporting  myself 
meanwhile  as  I  best  could.  Yossignoria  knows 
that  I  can  write,  thanks  to  the  priest  of  San 
Jacopo ;  and  I  taught  myself  to  copy  music,  and 
was  much  employed  by  musicians  as  a  copyist. 
But  it  was  difficult  to  support  myself  at  that 
time. 

"I  used  to  copy  music  a  good  deal  for  the  Cav- 
aliere  Mattei,  a  political  agent  of  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Tuscany  at  Milan. 

"The  Cavaliere  was  a  great  dilettante,  passion- 
ately fond  of  music,  and  a  violinist  himself. 
When  he  found  out  how  very  poor  I  was,  he 
helped  me  with  both  money  and  good  advice. 
Ah !  he  has  a  good  heart,  that  Filippo  Mattei ! 
He  allowed  me  also  to  consort  with  his  family ; 
his  wife,  Signora  Celeste,  was  kindness  itself,  and 
many  a  word  of  encouragement  she  has  spoken 


58  GIANNETTO. 

to  me  since  I  first  made  acquaintance  with  her. 
The  children — there  were  four — became  my 
friends.  The  eldest  of  them,  Elvira,  was  then 
still  a  child ;  she  was  fourteen  years  old,  but  she 
was  so  good,  so  dear,  that  even  then  I  began  to 
hope  that  at  some  future  time  her  father  might 
give  her  to  me.  I  never  concealed  my  birth,"  he 
continued,  proudly ;  "  they  all  know  that  I  was  but 
a  poor  fisherman.  But  more  than  that  I  have 
not  told,  and  none  can  say  that  I  have  done  an 
injustice.  But  patience!  do  I  not  weary  the 
Signore  ?  It  is  too  good  of  him  to  be  thus  inter- 
ested." 

"No,  no;  pray,  Giannetto,  go  on." 

"Well,  my  education  was  completed — that  is  to 
say,  the  Scala  pronounced  it  completed— within  a 
year ;  and  I  returned  to  Turin,  and  sang  there  for 
the  first  time  in  public,  with  a  certain  success. 
The  manager  was  generous ;  he  allowed  me  a  good 
half  of  the  three  months'  gains,  and  by  his 
recommendations  enabled  me  to  obtain  a  first- 
rate  engagement  at  the  Court  of  St.  Petersburg 
for  two  years.  After  I  had  been  there  awhile,  I 
made  much  money — a  real  fortune ;  and  I  wrote 
to  the  manager  asking  him  for  what  sum  he  would 


GIANNETTO.  59 

release  me  from  my  engagement.  He  named  a 
very  large  one.  But  I  paid  it,  every  soldo,  and 
rejoiced  in  feeling  that  I  was  once  more  my  own 
master. 

"Two  years  ago  I  came  to  Florence,  having 
obtained  a  short  holiday.  I  found  the  Mattei 
returned  here.  Elvira  was  not  yet  betrothed; 
she  was  seventeen,  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and 
good  as  she  was  beautiful.  I  hardly  dared  ask 
Mattei,  but  he  gave  a  free  consent;  and  my 
Elvira  accompanied  me  back  to  St.  Petersburg  as 
my  wife.  I  am  happy,  Signor  Conte;  do  you 
not  look  on  me  as  the  happiest  and  luckiest  of 
men?" 

He  laughed  a  curious  little  grating  laugh. 

I  looked  at  him  hesitatingly,  and  then  said, 
"And,  Giannetto,  can  you  tell  me  nothing  of  the 
mother — of  Carola?  She  must  be  getting  old 
now,  and  feeling  lonely — a  widow,  bereaved  also 
of  her  child." 

He  answered  hastily,  "She  is  very  well;  I 
occasionally  hear  of  her  from  the  Curato  of  our 
village.  She  is  a  great  lady  now,"  he  added, 
smiling,  "and  need  do  no  work  but  for  her  own 
pleasure ;  but  I  hear  that  she  still  lives  in  the 
little  old  house." 


60  GIANNETTO. 

"And  the  Cur  at  o,  he  also  is  well?" 

"Yes,  yes,  quite  well — that  is,  I  believe  so; 
but  I  have  not  been  there  myself,  and  he  is  the 
only  man  in  the  miserable  little  place  that  can 
read  and  write,  and  he  is  not  a  man  to  say  much 
about  himself." 

He  spoke  irritably,  and  I  could  well  see  that 
he  disliked  all  allusion  to  his  former  condition. 

Again  I  felt  tempted  to  apologize,  when  a  feel- 
ing of  indignation  cut  me  short.  What  right  had 
he  to  feel  like  this  towards  his  best  and  earliest 
friend?  and,  but  for  curiosity,  I  should  hardly 
have  prolonged  the  conversation.  In  spite  of 
myself,  there  was  a  fascination  about  him,  or 
rather  in  connection  with  his  history,  which  I 
could  not  resist. 

When  he  next  spoke  it  was  in  a  very  different 
manner — "May  I  ask  the  Signor  Conte  if  the 
young  ladies  are  well  ?  Are  they  settled  in  life, 
or  still  with  you?"  And  on  hearing  that  Helen 
was  still  with  me,  he  said,  rather  doubtfully,  "I 
scarcely  dare  to  ask  it ;  but  if  you  permitted  it, 
might  I  present  my  wife  to  you  and  to  the  Signor- 
ina  Helen  ?  She  would  esteem  it  a  great  honor, 
and  dies  already  to  kiss  your  hands,  for  I  have 


GIANNETTO.  gX 

told  lier  that  I  lie  under  great  obligations  to 
you." 

"Indeed,"  I  interrupted  hastily,  "I  must  dis- 
claim all  gratitude  from  you.  I  have  often 
regretted — "  I  stopped  abruptly,  for  the  dark 
flush  rose  almost  painfully  into  Giannetto's  face. 
He  bowed  gravely,  and  said,  "I  must  hope, 
Signor  Conte,  that  my  future  career  will  give  you 
no  reason  to  regret  having  been  the  first  to 
awaken  my  ambition.  Will  you  consent  to  my 
request?" 

I  told  him  that  Helen  and  I  would  call  and 
pay  our  respects  to  his  wife,  and  asked  for  his 
address. 

"We  are  at  present  staying  with  the  Mattei, 
No.  12  Borgo  Pinti,"  he  answered.  "And  the 
Signora  Celeste  will  feel  much  gratified  at  the 
honor  you  will  confer  upon  her,  in  visiting  Elvira 
at  her  house.  And  now,  Signore,  I  relieve  you 
of  my  presence."  He  rose  and  took  up  his  hat. 
"I  have  the  honor  to  wish  you  good  morning." 

And  bowing  low,  he  took  his  leave  in  the  same 
gentlemanlike  manner  with  which  he  had  entered. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

HELEN  and  I  called  at  the  Palazzo  where 
the  Mattei  family  were  living,  a  very  few 
days  after  Giannetto's  visit. 

Up  a  long,  carpetless  stair  we  climbed,  and  ar- 
rived at  an  iron  grate  on  the  third  floor,  where 
we  pulled,  or  rather  shook,  a  dilapidated  bell. 
For  a  long  time  no  one  came ;  then  the  face  of  a 
housemaid  looked  through  the  opposite  door, 
and  a  shrill  voice  shouted  the  usual  Italian  ques- 
tion, "Chie?" 

"Is  the  Signora  Mattei  in  the  house?"  in- 
quired Beppo,  in  reply.  "Of  course  she  is,  at 
this  hour,"  answered  the  woman  ;  and  drawing  a 
key  out  of  her  pocket,  she  proceeded  slowly  to 
open  the  grate. 

Beppo  gave  her  my  card,  and  she  hurried  away 
with  it,  leaving  us  standing  on  the  landing-place. 
After  a  few  moments  she  returned,  and  saying, 
"  Enter,  enter,  Signore  ! "  she  led  the  way  through 


GIANNE.TTO.  G3 

a  large  empty  anteroom  into  what  was  evidently 
used  as  a  music-room. 

It  was  a  large  room,  the  centre  occupied  by  a 
grand  piano,  on  the  extremity  of  which  lay 
masses  of  music,  songs,  accompaniments,  and 
what  looked  like  manuscript  violin-music.  Round 
the  room  were  long  red-coA*ered  seats  or  divans. 
The  walls  were  painted  a  pale  buff  color,  and 
the  curtains  matched  them  in  hue.  Two  or  three 
tables  stood  at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  on  these 
were  carefully  arranged  various  trifling  orna- 
ments, such  as  photographs  in  cases,  Paris  bon- 
bonnieres,  bits  of  Florentine  mosaic,  etc.,  etc. 

Bidding  us  be  seated,  the  servant  fidgeted 
about  the  room  a  little,  and  then  said,  "Vossig- 
nori  are  foreigners?"  Much  amused,  I  told  her 
we  were  English.  "Ah!"  she  said,  "doubtless 
the  Signori  have  come  a  long,  long  way.  La  Sig- 
nora  Mattei  dearly  loves  the  English.  She  once, 
years  ago,  knew  an  English  lady,  and  stayed  two 
days — "  She  broke  off ;  for  a  shrill  voice  shouted 
from  the  inner  room,  "  Violante,  O  Violante  ! "  "I 
come,  I  come  !"  she  cried  ;  and  making  a  sort  of 
deprecating  shrug  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  You  see  we  can  have  no  more  conversation  just 
now,"  she  hurried  out  of  the  room. 


64  GIANNETTO. 

We  again  waited  some  moments  ;  then  a  door 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  opened,  and  a 
gentle,  venerable  old  gentleman  came  forward. 
" S'accommodino — be  seated,  I  beg,"  he  began; 
"these  Signori  do  us  too  much  honor  to  call  on 
us — on  my  daughter,  I  should  rather  say.  La 
Signora  Mattei  is  a  woman  of  much  spirit ;  she 
is  busy  at  this  hour,  but  she  will  be  here  directly." 
He  was  a  fine-looking  old  man,  with  long,  silky, 
white  hair,  and  a  very  sweet,  courteous  expres- 
sion, particularly  when  he  smiled.  His  hands 
were  covered  with  brown  cloth  mittens  ;  and  oc- 
casionally he  kept  up  the  old  custom  of  slowly 
fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  a  large  tortoise-shell 
snuff-box,  which  he  made  use  of  with  much  zest. 

"I  hope,"  he  continued,  "that  the  Signorina 
diverts  herself  in  Florence  ?  There  is  much  that 
is  interesting  if  she  has  a  love  of  art.  Perhaps 
she  is  herself  an  amateur,  and  occasionally 
studies  in  our  galleries?" 

I  told  him  that  we  were  staying  at  Florence 
much  for  purposes  of  study,  and  then  proceeded 
to  make  him  my  compliments  on  the  reputation 
of  his  son-in-law. 

He  bowed,  la}dng  his  hand  on  his  heart.     "  The 


GIANNETTO.  65 

Signor  Conte  is  too  good.  Without  doubt,  Gio- 
vanni has  talent ;  he  will  be  a  great  singer.  I 
tell  him  he  should  go  to  England.  I  was  there 
myself  once — it  is  now  twenty  years — and  I  know 
London  well.  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  there  he  would 
make  a  fortune.  They  know  nothing  of  our  lan- 
guage, those  English, — the  Signor  Conte  is  Scoz- 
zese,  he  speaks  like  a  native, — but  they  appreci- 
ate the  talent,  and  they  pay  well.  I  myself 
heard  the  Pasta  sing,  and  heard  the  English  say, 
'Beautiful,  beautiful!  but  what  did  she  sing? — 
was  it  not  German,  or  was  it  French  ? '  Still,  not 
the  less  do  they  pay  well." 

"I  hope  Signor  Giovanni  will  come  to  En- 
gland," said  Helen,  rather  timidly;  "at  least  he 
will  find  better  support  there  in  the  theatre,  for 
all  the  best  artists  find  their  way  to  London." 

"Ah,  it  is  a  wonderful  place!"  continued  the 
Cavaliere  Mattei.  "Without  doubt,  Florence 
appears  very  small  to  you ;  and  my  son-in-law 
tells  me  that  St.  Petersburg — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  door  flying  open, 
and  the  abrupt  entrance  of  Signora  Celeste,  fol- 
lowed by  her  daughter.  It  was  as  if  a  whirlwind 
had  burst  into  the  room.  "  Good  morning,  Sig- 
5 


GG  GIANNETTO. 

nor  Conte.  Signorina  Elena,  I  have  the  honor 
to  salute  you.  I  hope  I  see  you  in  good  health. 
It  grieved  me  to  hear  from  my  son-in-law  that 
you  are  not  strong.  Be  seated.  We  have  heard 
much  of  you  from  Giovanni.  He  tells  me,"  she 
continued,  without  taking  breath,  "that  he  made 
acquaintance  with  you  some  years  ago  at  Nice, 
and  that  he  lies  under  obligations  to  you.  We 
are  grateful,"  she  added  ;  "you  do  us  great  honor 
in  visiting  us  thus,  and  the  opportunity  of  offer- 
ing you  our  thanks  we  shall  hold  very  dear." 

I  endeavored  to  disclaim  all  thanks,  but  she 
did  not  pause. 

"And  the  Signorina,  does  she  divert  herself  in 
Florence  ?  I  fear  but  little  goes  on  at  this  mo- 
ment. She  has  without  doubt  visited  the  Cascine 
every  Sunday  afternoon?  The  Grand  Duchess 
is  almost  always  there,  and  it  is  very  gay.  Do 
the  Signori  contemplate  being  here  for  the  Car- 
nival? There  are  to  be  great  doings  this  year; 
and  certain  Signori  of  the  principal  families  are 
to  have  balls.  The  Signorina  without  doubt 
loves  dancing  ?  She  is  of  an  age  to  do  so.  El- 
vira loved  it  much  formerly ;  but  since  she  is 
married  she   is   quite   changed, — she   thinks  of 


GIANNETTO.  (37 

nothing  but  her  husband  and  child,  and  the  mu- 
sic. Really,  it  is  a  trial  of  patience — a  weariness 
— when  she  and  her  father  and  Giovanni  begin 
with  their  everlasting  music.  Not  a  word  can 
one  get  in.  And  what  with  the  violin  and  the 
pianoforte,  and  now  Binda,  now  La  Caprera, 
coming  in  to  practice  with  Giovanni,  life  is  a  bur- 
den. The  people  in  the  streets  come  under  the 
windows  to  listen,  but  I  hope  I  may  have  put  a 
stop  to  that ;  for  when  they  are  all  listening,  Vio- 
lante  and  I  are  often  obliged  to  throw  water  and 
vegetables  out  of  the  window.  Can  I  help  it  ? — 
bah !  one  must  keep  one's  house  clean  ! " 

"Assuredly,"  said  the  Cavaliere,  mildly.  "But 
wherefore  thus  outrage  their  feelings?  Poor 
souls  !  it  is  to  them  a  great  diversion." 

She  quietly  ignored  his  words.  "  And  the 
Signor  Conte  has  taken  the  Villa  Vacchini?"  she 
continued.  "La  Signora  Vacchini  is  one  in  a 
thousand !  an  excellent  person  ;  she  is  much  my 
friend.  Without  doubt,  it  is  her  agent  Signor 
Ettore  Bonifazio  who  has  arranged  with  these 
Signori  ?  He  is  a  good  man  ;  but,  Santa  Maria  ! 
what  fat !  he  is  a  hill — a  mountain  !  La  Vacchini 
at  one  time  had  it  in  her  mind  to  marry  him  ;  but 


68  GIANNETTO. 

I  said  to  lier,  '  Lucia,  my  dear,  beware ;  it  is  a 
sack — a  mountain — you  would  marry.  An  agita- 
tion— a  slight  fright — he  is  seized  with  an  apo- 
plexy, and  you  are  again  a  widow  ! '  Had  I  not 
reason  ?  And  she  is  in  good  circumstances.  She 
has  a  large  hotel  in  the  Piazza  Nuova,  which  for- 
eigners frequent  much  ;  and  she  has  also  the  Villa 
Yacchini,  and  certain  olive  and  vine  yards  in  the 
hills  near  the  Certosa.  I  hope,"  she  continued, 
suddenly  breaking  off,  "that  you  remain  satisfied 
that  she  does  well  by  you?" 

"Perfectly,"  I  answered.  "All  I  have  had  to 
ask  for  has  been  done  excellently  by  Signor  Bo- 
nifazio." 

"I  rejoice  to  hear  it ;  for  if  it  had  not  been  so, 
I  would  have  said  to  her,  'Lucia,  it  is  a  shame,  a 
wickedness,  that  you  have  not  attended  better  to 
these  foreigners  that  are  so  kind  and  so  good.' 
My  second  daughter,  L' Adelaide  is  betrothed  to 
her  eldest  son ;  he  wanted  Elvira,  but  even  at 
that  time,  when  Giovanni  was  in  Russia,  I  could 
see  that  her  heart — " 

"Mamma,  for  pity's  sake,"  broke  in  the  sweet 
voice  of  Giovanni's  wife,  the  first  words  I  had 
heard  her  speak.     My  attention  had  been  fully 


GIANNETTO.  QQ 

occupied  by  the  mother,  while  Helen  had  been 
equally  busily  engaged  in  extracting  gentle  mono- 
syllables from  Elvira. 

The  young  wife  looked  very  pretty  and  very 
shy,  but  there  was  somewhat  of  an  air  of  sadness 
about  her  that  troubled  me.  She  had  not  that 
quiet  look  of  repose  which  speaks  of  a  heart  at 
rest.  Her  large  eyes  looked  anxious,  and  even 
careworn ;  and  when  she  was  not  smiling,  her 
face  assumed  a  gravity  unnatural  in  one  so  young. 
It  brightened  up  prettily  when  Helen  asked  to 
see  the  baby,  and  she  brought  it  into  the  room. 
It  was  a  pretty,  brown,  Italian  baby,  with  large 
soft  eyes  and  abundance  of  dark  hair ;  and  Elvira 
evidently  loved  it  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  south- 
ern nature. 

"It  is  a  little  angel,  a  darling!"  said  the  old 
Cavaliere,  tenderly  patting  its  little  head.  "And 
the  Signor  Conte,  has  he  also  little  grand- 
children ?     The  English  children  are  beautiful ! " 

I  told  him  that  niy  daughter  Amy  had  two  lit- 
tle ones — the  youngest  might  be  about  the  age  of 
Elvira's.  Elvira  looked  pleased  and  interested, 
and  I  heard  her  begin  to  question  Helen  in  a  low 
voice  about  the  English  children. 


70  GIANNETTO. 

Signora  Celeste  turned  to  me  again— "It  is 
curious,"  she  said,  "but  it  is  said  that  English 
children  live  upon  milk.  I  suppose,  then,  that 
they  are  very  small  and  thin,  and  have  not  much 
strength  till  they  get  older  ?  Elvira  would  never 
have  reared  that  child  upon  milk.  But  doubtless 
it  is  not  true." 

I  answered  her  that  it  was  quite  true. 

"Indeed!"  she  said;  "would  yo.u  believe  it! 
And  you  mean  to  say  that  you  never  give  them 
wine  at  all?""   What  support  can  they  have?" 

I  could  only  repeat  that  the  children  were  very 
healthy  and  blooming.  She  evidently  looked  on 
my  saying  so  as  the  ignorant  assertion  of  a  man. 

It  was  some  time  before  we  could  get  away— 
there  was  so  much  to  be  said  on  Signora  Mattel's 
part.  Altogether,  for  a  first  visit,  it  was  an  unu- 
sually long  one. 

"Well,  Helen,  and  what  do  you  think  of  Gian- 
netto's  pretty  wife?"  I  asked,  as  soon  as  we  were 
seated  in  the  carriage,  and  fairly  started  on  our 
way  home. 

"Very  pretty,  very  fascinating,  but  not  clever, 
I  should  think ;  and,  papa,  did  you  notice  how 
very  sad  she  looks  ?     I  hope  he  is  kind  to  her." 


GIANNETTO.  71 

"  She  does  indeed  look  sad,  poor  little  thing !  I 
was  especially  charmed  with  the  old  Cavaliere. 
What  a  thorough  gentleman  of  the  old  school  he 
is,  with  his  white  hair  and  his  gentle  venerable 
face!" 

Before  very  long  our  visit  was  returned  by  the 
ladies  of  the  party.  We  were  sitting  out  on  the 
terrace, — Helen  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a 
drawing  she  had  been  making  of  a  great  bunch 
of  yellow  nespoli,  or  medlars ;  I  myself  lazily 
smoking,  and  reading  a  very  stupid  Italian 
novel, — when  BejDpo  announced  them.  More 
chairs  were  brought  out,  and  we  reseated  our- 
selves. 

After  a  few  moments  of  general  conversation, 
Signora  Celeste  leaned  forward  and  said  in  a  very 
loud  whisper,  "Signor  Conte,  with  your  leave, 
will  you  do  me  the  great  honor  of  permitting  me 
a  little  conversation  with  you  in  private?" 

I  could  see  Elvira  color  violently,  and  give  an 
imploring  look  to  her  mother ;  but  that  good  lady 
was  not  to  be  suppressed  by  looks.  I  could  not 
imagine  what  she  could  want,  but  politeness  com- 
pelled me  to  bow,  and  lead  the  way  into  the 
house.     She  followed,  sweeping  along  in  a  silk 


72  GIANNETTO. 

gown,  which  I  could  not  help  thinking  made  more 
rustle  than  any  gown  I  had  ever  seen,  or  rather 
heard,  before.  I  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling 
that  she  was  very  close  at  my  heels — a  feeling 
increased  by  the  sharp  way  in  which  she  shut 
the  door  behind  her  with  a  click,  and  established 
herself  on  a  tall  old-fashioned  arm-chair  in  front 
of  me. 

She  began  the  conversation  herself.  "And 
now,  Signor  Conte,"  she  said,  "I  shall  be  greatly 
obliged  to  you  if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to 
tell  me  what  you  know  of  the  former  habits  and 
pursuits  of  my  son-in-law.  It  is  not  merely  from 
curiosity  that  I  ask,"  she  added,  seeing  my  nat- 
ural hesitation;  "but  if  the  Signor  Conte  is  able 
to  tell  me,  it  concerns  me  to  know." 

"It  is,  I  fear,  but  little  that  I  can  tell  you, 
Signora  Mattei,"  I  answered.  "  My  acquaintance 
with  Signor  Giovanni  was  very  slight,  and  of  short 
duration.  You  are,  he  tells  me,  aware  that  his 
birth  is  not  equal — " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  that,"  she  exclaimed.  "He 
was  but  a  peasant,  a  fisherman ;  is  it  not  so?" 

"You  are  right;  and  it  was  through  a  conver- 
sation with  the  priest  of  his  village  that  I  first 


GIANNETTO.  73 

became  interested  in  him.  He  was  very  hand- 
some, and — -and  I  am  an  admirer  of  beauty.  I 
was  enabled  to  do  him  some  slight  service,  which 
he  makes  too  much  of  by  far ;  and  there  our  ac- 
quaintance for  the  time  came  to  an  end.  It  is  an 
unexpected  honor,"  I  resumed,  at  my  wit's  end 
what  to  say,  "that  I  have  renewed  it  so  advanta- 
geously." 

Signora  Celeste  appeared  to  be  thinking  deeply, 
and  not  to  remark  my  little  speech,  which  was 
meant  to  be  complimentary.  She  spoke  again, 
with  an  abruptness  which  made  me  feel  as  if  I 
was  being  snapped  at.  "And  this  Curato,  was 
he  a  friend  of  Giovanni's?" 

"He  was  very  good  to  him,"  I  answered. 
"  The  father  was  dead,  and  the  priest  not  only 
helped  his  mother  with  money  out  of  his  own 
very  small  store,  but  he  also  gave  him  an  educa- 
tion which  made  him  superior  to  his  fellows." 

"  And  his  voice  ?  Did  the  priest  also  teach  him 
to  sing?" 

"His  voice,  his  voice,"  I  stammered;  "it 
developed  late  in  life — unusually  late.  No  ;  the 
priest  had  nothing  to  do  with  training  that." 

"Then  he  never  sang  in  the  choir?"  she 
asked. 


74  GIANNETTO. 

"Not  to  my  knowledge,"  I  replied,  wishing  her 
anywhere — at  the  bottom  of  the  Red  Sea. 

"And  is  his  mother  alive?" 

"She  is — that  is,  I  believe  so  ;  but  it  is  so  long 
since  I  have  been  at  San  Jacopo,  that  the  Signora 
will  comprehend  that  I  can  give  no  exact  answer 
to  her  question." 

Signora  Celeste  suddenly  rose,  drew  her  chair 
closer  to  mine,  and  folding  her  hands  (clothed  in 
black  net  mittens)  together,  she  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  me,  and  proceeded  :  "  Signor  Conte,  I  am 
afraid  you  have  indeed  but  little  to  tell  me :  but 
I  will  explain  to  you  the  reason  of  my  question ; 
for,  without  doubt,  you  consider  me  indiscreet 
and  impertinent— nay,  it  is  but  natural  that  I 
should  so  appear  to  you." 

Of  course  I  endeavored  to  disavow  the  suppo- 
sition ;  but  she  interrupted  my  attempted  civili- 
ties ruthlessly.  "Listen,  Signore,"  she  said — 
"listen.  Giovanni  has  no  doubt  told  you  that  he 
came  first  under  my  husband's  notice  as  a  copy- 
ist who  was  working  out  his  musical  education  at 
Milan.  At  that  time  we  resided  much  at  Milan. 
My  mother  was  alive,  and  a  great  invalid  ;  so  we 
spent  months  with  her  at  a  time.     My  husband 


GIANNETTO.  75 

had  not  then  obtained  his  present  appointment 
at  Florence.  The  Signor  Conte  knows  that  the 
Cavaliere  is  a  great  dilettante,  has  a  veritable  pas- 
sion for  music  ;  and  where  there  is  a  music-seller's 
shop,  there  he  is  to  be  found,  at  times,  for  hours 
in  the  day.  Well,  he  had  at  that  time  a  fanata- 
cism  for  very  ancient  music,  forgotten  altogether 
at  this  present  time,  and  much  of  this  he  had 
transposed  for  the  violin.  It  is  difficult,  this  old 
music,  and  has  to  be  understood,  or  the  transpos- 
ing makes  it  often  almost  ludicrous.  My  hus- 
band found  that  Giovanni  could  do  it  well,  and 
employed  him  constantly.  The  poor  boy  was  at 
that  time  so  destitute,  that  I  could  see  that  very 
often  he  had  not  enough  to  buy  a  good  meal ;  so 
it  ended  in  our  taking  him  into  the  house. 

"My  mother,  poor  soul,  took  a  great  fancy  for 
Giovanni,  and  would  have  it  that  he  was  to  be 
one  of  the  greatest  singers  of  the  day ;  and  it  is 
certain  that  his  voice  was  of  a  beauty,  a  quality, 
that  one  does  not  meet  with  often. 

"The  only  times  he  would  never  spend  with  us 
were  his  Sundays  and  his  saints'  days.  On  such 
days,  when  friends  and  neighbors  meet,  going 
and  coming  from  the  churches,  he  would  never 


76  GIANNETTO. 

consent  to  be  with  our  family  party.  At  first, 
when  I  asked  him,  he  would  not  say  where  he 
went,  but  latterly  he  walked  into  the  country  to 
see  some  old  friend  of  his  mother's,  who  was  a 
Milanese  ;  so  I  remained  satisfied.  The  Signore 
knows,  I  presume,  that  he  obtained  an  engage- 
ment of  much  distinction,  and  left  us  for  Russia. 
By  that  time  we  had  become  so  fond  of  him  that 
it  was  a  sorrow,  a  grief,  to  part  from  him ;  and  it 
was  to  us  like  the  return  of  a  dear  son  when  he 
came  home  and  asked  the  Cavaliere  for  Elvira. 

"Elvira  was  not  without  suitors — several  times 
I  could  have  established  her  well  in  life  ;  but  the 
poor  child  had  a  veritable  little  passion  for  Gio- 
vanni— and  the  Signor  Conte  can  understand  the 
feelings  of  a  father.  What  could  he  do?  He 
consented.  The  day  for  the  wedding  was  fixed ; 
but  instead  of  looking  happy,  the  bridegroom 
looked  gloomier  every  day,  and  Elvira  did  nothing 
but  cry.  We  could  not  imagine  what  was  amiss. 
At  last  I  compelled  Elvira  to  tell  me— Giovanni 
wished  for  a  civil  marriage  without  the  blessing 
of  the  Church.  Of  course  Elvira  would  not 
agree ;  and  the  Cavaliere  was  very  angry,  and 
wished  at  the  eleventh  hour  to  stop  it  all.     They 


GIANNETTO.  77 

are  all  alike,  these  men,  with  their  impatience ! 
I  told  Elvira  that  I  took  it  on  myself.  I  sent 
for  Giovanni.  I  asked  him  if  he  could  give  a 
clear  and  sufficient  reason  for  his  wish ;  and  he 
had  nothing  to  say  except  that  he  disliked  the 
ceremony,  and  other  such  frivolous  pretexts, 
worthy  of  no  consideration.  I  told  him  so.  I 
asked  him  to  talk  it  over  with  some  priest ;  but 
that  he  refused  to  do  :  and  after  a  few  more  ex- 
postulations, he  gave  way.  Signor  Conte,  there 
is  something,  I  know  not  what,  of  mysterious 
about  him.  When  the  moment  came  that  the 
wedding  procession  should  enter  the  church,  he 
became  pale  as  a  corpse,  the  perspiration  stood 
on  his  brow,  he  seemed  as  if  in  a  mortal  agony,  and 
so  it  continued  during  the  ceremony ;  and  when 
he  had  to  speak,  it  seemed  to  us  all  that  his  voice 
was  gone — he  mumbled  his  answers  as  if  he 
knew  not  *what  he  said ;  and  at  last,  when  all 
was  over,  he  had  to  be  supported  out  of  the 
church  more  like  a  dead  than  a  living  man.  Ah  ! 
we  were  much  frightened ;  but  the  outer  air 
seemed  to  revive  him,  and  he  became  himself 
again.  It  was  strange,  unaccountable,  was  it  not  ? 
I  myself  cannot  understand  it — for  I  never  saw  a 


78  GIANNETTO. 

malady  at  all  resembling  it ;  and,  as  a  rule,  his 
health  is  excellent — he  knows  not  what  it  is  to  be 
ill. 

"Now,  alas!"  she  continued,  "we  find  that 
Giovanni  never  enters  the  door  of  a  church ;  he 
has  never  once  confessed  since  his  marriage, 
never  says  a  prayer,  and  will  not  even  use  holy 
words,  or  sing  songs  addressed  to  divine  person- 
ages. Alas  !  it  is  this  that  makes  my  poor  child 
so  unhappy.  He  is  very  kind,  kindness  itself  to 
her,  except  on  this  one  subject — and  on  this  he 
will  hear  nothing ;  and  she,  poor  child,  has 
always  been  a  good  Christian — a  saint,  I  may 
say,  in  all  her  ways.  He  cannot  even  endure  the 
sight  of  her  crucifix,  her  little  images,  and  sacred 
pictures ;  so  she  grieves  much.  In  short,  where 
the  holy  faith  is  concerned,  and  there  only,  he  is 
utterly  unlike  his  better  self. 

"When  the  child  was  born,  she  had  hoped  to 
dedicate  it  to  the  blessed  Mother,  and  call  it  Maria, 
but  he  would  not  have  it  so  named,  and  had  it 
baptized  Felicita — a  name  of  good  omen,  he  said. 
There  is  a  small  saint  of  the  name,  a  Santa  Strav- 
agante,  without  a  fixed  da}*-  in  the  calendar,  which 
made  us  give  our  consent.     But,  Signore,"  she 


GIANNETTO.  79 

continued,  rising,  "  I  have  trespassed  long  upon 
your  time.  I  had  hoped,"  she  added,  sadly, 
"that  you  would  have  been  able  to  help  us — to 
tell  us  something  that  would  account  for  this 
strange  evil  in  Giovanni ;  but  I  see  that  you  can 
tell  me  no  more  than  we  know  ourselves.  A 
thousand  thanks  for  the  kind  interest  you  have 
shown  in  what  I  have  ventured  to  tell  you  ;  and 
I  must  beg  many  pardons  for  having  thus  taken 
up  your  time." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Helen 
had  been  growing  much  interested  in  her  com- 
panion, whom  she  found  more  intelligent  than  she 
had  expected. 

Elvira  told  her  a  good  deal  about  their  life  in 
Eussia,  and  Eussian  ways  and  customs.  She 
spoke  of  her  husband's  success  with  much  pride, 
and  detailed  many  of  the  compliments  and  favors 
showered  on  him  at  St.  Petersburg.  Helen  was 
amused,  and  thought  the  time  had  passed  only 
too  quickly  when  Signora  Mattei  returned  ;  and 
they  took  their  leave  with  the  usual  compli- 
ments. 

To  myself,  the  time  had  not  seemed  so  short. 
The  whole  conversation  had  been  painful  to  me, 


80  GIANNETTO. 

from  the  consciousness  of  having  something  to 
conceal.  I  told  Helen  what  had  passed.  She 
grieved  for  the  poor  little  wife.  "I  am  sure  she 
feels  it  dreadfully,"  she  said.  "She  looks  to  me 
as  if  she  had  cried  till  she  could  cry  no  more — 
and  no  wonder !  But  it  seems  to  me  curious  that 
she  should  not  have  thought  of  all  this  before  she 
married  him."  "I  thought  so  at  first,"  I 
answered ;  "  but  consider,  these  Italian  women 
know  little  or  nothing  of  the  men  they  are  des- 
tined to  marry,  and  are  never  by  any  chance 
allowed  to  hold  conversation  with  them  alone ; 
so  that  I  do  not  think  it  so  wonderful.  Besides, 
in  this  case  the  only  thing  she  had  had  to  startle 
her  was  his  wish  to  have  a  civil  marriage  only ; 
and  that  point,  we  know,  he  yielded."  Helen 
sighed,  "Poor  little  thing!  poor  Elvira!" 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

GIANNETTO  and  his  wife  called  on  us  once 
more,  when  unfortunately  we  were  out,  leav- 
ing highly -glazed  cards,  after  the  Italian  fashion, 
with  P.P.C.  in  the  corner.  They  went  on  to 
Venice,  where  he  had  accepted  an  engagement. 

The  Italian  spring  set  in,  and  the  cold  weather 
passed  away.  Florence,  as  the  year  advanced, 
began  to  justify  her  beautiful  flowery  name :  tall 
tulips,  crimson  and  white  and  yellow,  countless 
purple  and  scarlet  anemones,  turned  the  olive 
and  vine  yards  into  carpets  of  wonderful  bril- 
liancy ;  the  scent  of  orange  and  lemon  blossoms 
in  the  garden  became  almost  overpowering;  and 
large  magnolias  slowly  unfolded  their  wax-like 
leaves. 

We  used  to  return  from  our  long  drives  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  the  carriage  laden  with  flow- 
ers ;  at  one  time  with  irises,  tulips,  and  roses — at 
another  with  myrtle  and  sweet-bay,  and  long 
6 


82  GIANNETTO. 

branches  of  the  purple  Judas-tree,  and  orange- 
flowering  arbutus.  Helen  reveled  in  them  ;  and 
would  turn  our  large  cool  drawing-room  into  a  per- 
fect bower,  much  to  the  disgust  of  Beppo  and 
some  other  of  the  Italian  servants,  who,  like  all 
their  countrymen,  dread  sweet-scented  flowers  in- 
doors, believing  that  they  produce  fevers  and  all 
sorts  of  harm. 

We  grudged  every  week  as  it  passed ;  and  the 
heat  increased,  warning  us  that  the  season  was 
at  hand  in  which  Italy  chooses  to  be  left  in  peace 
with  her  children,  and  the  foreigner  must  fly. 

One  evening  we  accomplished  an  expedition 
we  had  had  in  view  for  a  long  time — a  drive  to 
the  top  of  Fiesole,  to  visit  the  Franciscan  monas- 
tery. 

The  glare  of  the  day  was  quite  over,  for  tho 
heat  was  very  great  when  we  started,  and  the 
ascent  was  slow  in  consequence.  Up  we  toiled 
along  the  broad  white  road  on  its  zigzag  course, 
meeting  few  people  by  the  way — now  passing  a 
group  of  peasants  with  their  large  white-haired 
dog  or  sprightly  spitz,  now  being  passed  by  a 
carriage  making  a  spurt  up  the  hill,  containing 
two  or  three  Bussian  ladies  and  gentlemen,  on 


GIANNETTO.  83 

their  way  probably  to  dine  at  Villa  Mozzi ;  then, 
as  we  rose  higher,  the  Fiesole  women  crowded 
round  us,  begging  us  to  buy  their  straw-plait, 
long  rolls  of  it  beautifully  twisted — and  queer 
straw  cocks  and  hens  with  long  tails.  Helen  was 
very  weak-minded,  and  bought  right  and  left. 

We  reached  the  old  Etruscan  town,  with  its 
lovely  church-tower,  and  watched  a  line  of 
seminarists  in  their  long  black  cassocks  pass  us 
and  descend  the  hill  from  their  home,  diminishing 
in  size  as  the  distance  increased,  till  it  appeared 
like  the  twisting  of  a  small  black  serpent  far  be- 
low. 

We  had  brought  some  large  heavy  packages  of 
coffee,  sugar,  and  snuff,  as  a  present  to  the  Mars ; 
and  bidding  Beppo  follow  with  these,  we  took 
our  way  to  the  monastery. 

We  were  received  with  a  warm  welcome  by  the 
Father  Superior,  who  told  us  that  it  was  a  great 
treat  to  them  to  receive  visitors,  and  was  most 
attentive  to  us, — showed  us  the  chapel,  and  the 
various  points  from  which  the  magnificent  view 
was  best  to  be  seen,  and  even  allowed  Helen  to 
peep  into  the  clausura — the  inner  cloister,  where 
no  woman  may  tread. 


84:  GIANNETTO. 

He  told  us  that  most  of  his  friars  were  absent 
on  their  special  missions,  and  at  that  time  not 
more  than  twelve  in  all  were  at  home.  ."One  of 
them,"  he  said,  "has  just  returned  from  our 
mother  home  at  Assisi.  The  cholera  was  at 
Perugia,  and  a  great  panic  prevailed,  especially 
as  two  of  the  brethren  had  died,  and  they  sent 
for  some  from  here,  to  bring  fresh  hands  to  the 
work.  They  asked  for  a  good  preacher,  and  I 
sent  our  best — Fra  Geronimo,  and  a  young 
brother,  full  of  zeal,  who  had  lately  joined,  Fra 
Martino.  Alas !  Fra  Geronimo  returned  alone ; 
the  young  brother  had  finished  his  work,  and  ob- 
tained his  crown  of  martyrdom.  He  is  doubly 
blessed,  having  been  buried  near  the  shrine  of 
the  holy  Francis  himself;  but  he  was  very  young." 

"Fra  Geronimo!"  I  repeated.  "Was  it  he 
who  was  at  Nice  some  five  or  six  years  ago, 
preaching  in  the  church  of  Santa  Lucia?" 

"It  is  possible ;  I  cannot  tell,"  was  the  answer 
of  the  Superior.  "  Our  friars  go  far  and  wide. 
Yes,  assuredly  he  has  been  at  Nice  often ;  but 
when,  I  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  the  Yossignoria 
might  like  to  ask  him?" 

"I  should,  very  much,"  I  replied  eagerly. 


GIANNETTO.  85 

The  Superior  beckoned  to  a  lay  brother,  a  pale, 
bowed-down-looking  man — "  Old,  Gian-Maria, 
when  the  Padre  Geronimo  enters,  pray  him  to 
come  to  me." 

Meanwhile  Helen  had  taken  out  her  drawing- 
book,  and  was  sketching  rapidly,  seated  on  a  lit- 
tle rough  step,  a  group  of  friars  in  their  pictur- 
esque brown  habit  gathered  round  her,  making 
their  remarks  aloud — "Look!  look!  there  is  old 
Pietro's  cottage;  how  natural  it  is!  What  a 
wonderful  talent!  And  there  is  old  Mariuccio  in 
her  red  apron !  what  a  marvel !  And  a  woman 
can  do  thus!  Verily,  who-  would  believe  it? 
Look !  look !  there  is  the  black  cat.  Santa  Ma- 
ria! but  it  is  wonderful!" 

"The  Signora  is  English?"  asked  one,  rather 
timidly.     "She  is  doubtless  an  artist?" 

Helen  told  him  that  many  English  women 
sketched  very  well,  entirely  for  their  own  pleas- 
ure. 

"Indeed!  truly  it  is  wonderful!  "Who  would 
have  thought  that  women  could  thus?"  they  re- 
peated, much  to  her  amusement. 

Here  the  Superior  offered  her  a  pinch  of  snuff; 
and  knowing  that  a  refusal  would  hurt  the  kindly 


86  GIANNETTO. 

feelings  of  the  fathers,  she  took  it,  and  submitted 
to  the  frightful  fit  of  sneezing  which  was  the  nat- 
ural consequence — the  friars  all  saluting  her,  and 
wishing  her  buona  salute  and  felicita,  as  she  did  so, 
after  their  courteous,  old-fashioned  custom. 

They  then  begged  her  acceptance  of  various 
little  treasures  made  of  wax,  manufactured  by 
themselves,  chiefly  long  coils  for  lighting  candles, 
twisted  in  all  sorts  of  fantastic  shapes.  Helen 
professed  great  admiration  for  them,  much  to 
their  delight ;  and  she  promised  to  take  some 
home  to  her  little  nieces,  her  sister's  children. 
On  hearing  this,  one  of  the  monks  quickly  re- 
treated into  the  monastery,  and  returned  with 
a  little  paper  parcel.  "See,  Signora  !  "  he  cried, 
"I  have  brought  you  something  for  the  little 
children — see !  "  and,  with  a  flourish,  he  drew  a 
wax  bird  from  the  paper,  and  triumphantly  pre- 
sented it.  "  See !  it  has  eyes,  black  eyes,  and 
can  move  its  wings  ;  but  you  will  be  very  careful 
of  it?" 

Helen  accepted  the  treasure  with  as  much 
pleasure  as  it  was  given,  and  put  it  very  carefully 
into  her  drawing-bag.  Presently  she  rose  and 
came  up  to  show  me  her  sketch.     While  doing 


GIANNETTO.  §7 

so,  she  suddenly  caught  hold  of  me — "Look, 
look,  papa  !  what  a  picture  !  " 

What  so  much  attracted  her  attention  was  the 
appearance  of  two  Franciscan  monks  slowly 
mounting  the  hill,  in  the  taller  of  whom  I  at  once 
recognized  the  Fra  Geronimo  who  had  so  much 
excited  our  admiration  by  his  preaching  at  Nice. 

They  formed,  as  she  said,  a  very  picturesque 
group.  Fra  Geronimo  walked  with  a  long  and 
firm  step,  his  noble  head  erect,  and  the  fine  pro- 
portions of  his  tall  attenuated  figure  undisguised 
by  his  rough  brown  habit.  His  companion  was 
a  much  older  man,  but  appeared  to  be  bowed 
by  infirmity  and  care  even  more  than  by  the 
weight  of  years.  He  walked  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  and  his  long  gray  beard  reached 
down  to  the  hempen  cord  which  formed  his 
girdle.  Each  carried  a  sack  over  his  left  shoulder, 
containing  the  gifts  of  charity  that  day  received 
for  the  convent. 

They  parted  at  the  foot  of  the  chapel  steps, 
the  older  Father  going  on  to  the  cloister — the 
other,  Fra  Geronimo,  obeying  a  sign  from  his 
Superior,  and  advancing  to  where  we  stood. 

"  Have  you  had  good  speed,  brother  Gero- 
nimo? "  was  the  first  question. 


38  GIANNETTO. 

"We  have  walked  far,"  lie  answered,  "and  Fra 
Pietro  is  very  weary ;  few  asked  him  to  rest  in 
their  houses.     There  is  little  charity  abroad." 

The  Superior  looked  rather  wistfully  at  the 
sack,  and  did  not  answer.  Fra  Geronimo  turned 
to  me,  and  saluted  me  gravely. 

There  was  a  certain  sternness  and  severity 
about  the  man.  He  gave  me  the  impression  of 
being  uncompromising  in  everything — a  face  of 
singular  power,  of  one  who  would  grapple  with 
sin  in  mid-career,  and  force  shame  and  remorse 
on  the  most  hardened  sinner. 

I  asked  him  whether  he  recollected  having  been 
at  Nice  the  year  that  we  were  there  ?  he  remem- 
bered it  well ;  he  had  been  there  for  some  months, 
preaching  a  great  deal.  A  sudden  idea  struck 
me.  I  would  tell  Giannetto's  whole  history  to 
this  man,  and  ask  him  what  he  thought  of  it. 
The  tall  friar  was  standing  before  me,  calm  and 
motionless,  waiting  for  me  to  speak.  Should  I 
do  harm  in  trusting  him  ?  I  knew  nothing  of  him. 
I  raised  my  eyes,  and  scrutinized  his  face  with 
care.  As  if  conscious  that  much  depended  on 
that  look,  he  bent  his  large  hollow  eyes  on  me 
for  one  moment ;  but  in  that  moment  all  hesita- 


GIANNETTO.  89 

tion  passed  away,  and  I  felt  that  the  man  who 
stood  before  me  was  indeed  a  fit  instrument  for 
God's  will — pure  in  single-mindedness,  strong  as 
steel ;  and  I  determined  to  trust  him  implicitly. 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  knowing  that  I 
should  scarcely  have  time  for  my  long  story  then, 
I  begged  Era  Geronimo  (if  it  should  be  possible) 
'  to  visit  me  at  the  villa  within  a  few  days,  as  I 
had  occasion  to  ask  his  advice.  He  told  me  that 
he  would  do  so  ;  and,  calling  Helen,  we  took  leave 
of  our  kind  hosts,  and  started  on  our  return 
home. 

Merrily  the  horses  trotted  down,  swinging  the 
carriage  round  the  zigzag  corners,  the  sharp  drag 
making  the  seats  vibrate  as  we  went.  A  few  fire- 
flies were  dancing  about  (though  it  was  still  early 
in  the  year  for  them),  and  now  and  then  a  glim- 
mering spark  from  the  ground  revealed  a  glow- 
worm, almost  emerald  in  its  green  light.  Helen 
had  a  fancy  that  the  glow-worms  were  the  wives  of 
the  fire-flies,  and  insisted  that  it  was  true,  and 
that  the  fire-flies  were  ill-conditioned,  wild  gal- 
lants, who  left  their  estimable  wives  to  mope  at 
home  by  themselves.  The  grasshoppers  made 
such  a  noise  that,  at  one  time,  we  could  not  help 


90  GIANNETTO. 

fancying  that  one  must  have  got  into  the  car- 
riage. 

We  seemed  to  reach  home  only  too  soon — too 
soon,  indeed,  in  sad  earnest ;  for  on  the  table  lay 
a  packet  of  letters,  sent  by  express — a  summons 
home  on  important  business.  Alas !  how  the 
few  business-like  explanatory  words  of  my  cor- 
respondent brought  us  down  from  the  world  of 
fire-flies  and  romance  to  the  dull  routine  of  every- 
day life !  Our  happy  holiday  was  at  an  end. 
Helen  went  up-stairs  in  a  very  disconsolate  hu- 
mor, and,  some  time  after,  confessed  to  me  that 
she  had  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

During  the  few  days  that  followed,  we  had  so 
much  to  arrange  and  to  think  of,  that  I  had  almost 
forgotten  my  appointment  with  the  Franciscan. 
The  letters  arrived  on  Friday,  and  the  following 
Tuesday  was  the  day  fixed  upon  for  our  depart- 
ure. On  Monday  evening  our  arrangements 
were  completed,  and  we  had  time  to  sit  down  and 
rest,  and  look  ruefully  round  our  dismantled 
rooms.  All  the  purchases  we  had  made  at  Flor- 
ence, which  had  served  to  beautify  our  pleasant 
villa,  had  been  removed  that  afternoon,  to  be 
packed  in   Florence   and   sent   off  to   England. 


GIANNETTO.  91 

There  were  two  or  three  fine  old  gilded  cassoni  or 
chests,  carved  chairs,  large  majolica  pots,  innu- 
merable odds  and  ends,  and,  the  greatest  treasure 
of  all,  an  exquisite  little  David,  by  Donatello, 
under  a  white  marble  baldacchino,  standing 
about  two  feet  high, — all  were  gone !  — nothing 
but  the  original  bare  furniture  remained.  No 
wonder  that  we  felt  disconsolate. 

It  was  beginning  to  grow  rather  late,  when 
Beppo  came  in  to  say  that  a  Franciscan  wished 
to  speak  with  me.  I  was  very  glad,  having 
greatly  feared  that  I  should  not  see  him  again. 
He  came  in,  and  apologized  for  not  having  been 
able  to  come  before. 

"I  have  had  much  to  do,"  he  said.  "Much 
preaching  also  has  fallen  to  my  lot ;  and,  alas ! 
the  flesh  is  weak.  After  preaching,  I  am  often 
unable  to  do  more." 

He  seated  himself,  enveloping  his  hands  in  the 
loose  sleeves  of  his  habit,  and  bending  his  eyes 
to  the  ground.  Helen  had  left  the  room,  feeling 
that  it  might  be  easier  for  the  friar  to  talk  to  me 
in  her  absence. 

I  began  at  once  by  telling  him  how  and  in 
what  manner  I  had  come  across  the  village  of 


92  GIANNETTO. 

San  Jacopo,  and  had  first  been  interested  in  the 
unhappy  Giannetto.  I  told  him  of  our  coming 
to  Nice  together,  and  of  the  impression  made  on 
us  all  by  his  sermon  on  human  suffering ;  of  the 
verdict  of  the  doctors, — in  short,  all  the  whole 
strange  story.  He  remembered  the  storm  well, 
and  had  had  much  to  do  in  helping  and  consol- 
ing the  sufferers  from  the  effects  of  it.  When  I 
told  him  of  Giannetto's  return,  and  the  wonder- 
ful change  wrought  in  him,  he  crossed  himself 
repeatedly,  -and  muttered  something  in  Latin,  too 
low  for  me  to  hear ;  and  he  could  scarcely  con- 
ceal his  astonishment  under  the  usual  perfect 
calm  of  his  demeanor  when  I  told  him  that  this 
young  fisherman,  whose  history  I  had  been  tell- 
ing him,  was  no  other  than  the  famous  tenor  Gi- 
ovanni, who  had  lately  been  making  such  a  sen- 
sation in  Florence. 

"And  now,  Father,"  I  concluded,  "tell  me 
what  you  think  of  this  strange  story.  Is  there, 
can  there  be  any  unnatural,  or  rather  unhallowed, 
cause  which  has  driven  Giannetto  from  Church 
and  God?" 

"I  know  not,"  replied  the  friar  ;  "strange  and 
unaccountable  things  sometimes  occur  in  nature. 


GIANNETTO.  93 

Signor  Conte" — lie  lowered  his  voice  almost  to  a 
whisper — "sometimes  desperate  men  have  been 
known  to  sell  their  souls." 

It  was  evident  that  his  suspicions  pointed  in 
the  same  direction  as  my  own. 

"Anyhow,"  he  exclaimed,  "there  is  a  soul  to 
be  saved  for  God.  I  will,  God  give  me  grace,  do 
my  part.  For  yours,  pray  for  me.  God  will  give 
me  the  power,  if  it  be  His  sacred  will." 

His  large  eyes  flashed  with  a  feverish,  enthu- 
siastic fire ;  and  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  drew 
the  hempen  girdle  round  his  loins,  he  looked  like 
some  prophet  about  to  go  forth  inspired  on  his 
way. 

"  You  go  ?  "  I  asked,  somehow  feeling  scarcely 
worthy  to  address  him. 

"I  go  to  Venice.  I  follow  him  through  the 
world.     There  is  a  soul  to  be  saved  for  God." 

Awe-struck,  I  stood  aside  to  let  him  pass  ;  and 
he  went  straight  out,  only  pausing  on  the  thresh- 
old and  raising  his  hand  in  the  act  of  blessing. 
I  watched  him  till  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  him 
from  my  sight,  and  then,  lost  in  thought  and  be- 
wildered, returned  into  the  house. 

The  next  morning  dawned,  the  day  of  our  de- 


94  GIANNETTO. 

parture.  Helen  came  down  to  breakfast  in  her 
traveling  dress,  and  we  both  felt  very  sad.  The 
carriage  was  announced,  and  we  went  out  to  it. 
All  our  cottage  friends  were  assembled  under  the 
long,  broad  portico :  Pippo,  the  gardener,  with 
an  enormous  stiff  bouquet  for  Helen  ;  Adele,  his 
wife ;  Colomba,  the  wife  of  the  contadino,  who 
managed  the  vines  and  podere,  or  farm  ;  and  all 
the  children,  also  holding  bouquets ;  Carola, 
Anna,  and  the  old  father,  the  patriarch  of  them 
all ;  and  last-  but  not  least,  the  villa  watch-dogs, 
Giotto  and  Solferino. 

It  was  a  mingled  scene  of  crying  and  kissing 
of  hands,  and  shouts  of  "A  pleasant  journey,  a 
most  happy  journey ! "  etc.  "We  got  away  at  last, 
and  I  thought  our  partings  well  over ;  but  at  the 
station,  as  I  slipped  a  last  scudo  into  the  coach- 
man's hand,  to  my  dismay  he  clasped  mine  to  his 
lips,  and  burst  into  tears. 

We  were  seated  in  the  carriage,  the  train  be- 
gan to  move,  when  a  shower  of  bouquets  was 
thrown  in  at  the  window,  and  a  shrill  voice 
shouted  a  last  huon  viaggio.  It  was  Signora  Ce- 
leste herself,  who  stood  gesticulating  on  the  plat- 
form as  we  steamed  out  of  the  station. 


w 


CHAPTER  VII. 

E  were  careful,  before  going,  to  leave  our 
address  in  England  with  the  Franciscans, 
the  Matteis,  and  the  Curato  of  San  Jacopo,  to 
whom  I  sent  two  or  three  envelopes  directed  to 
myself  and  stamped ;  and  it  was  through  occa- 
sional correspondence  with  all  these  that  we 
heard  enough  of  Giannetto  and  his  wife  to  ena- 
ble me  to  carry  on  the  thread  of  their  history. 

When  Era  Geronimo  reached  Venice,  he  estab- 
lished himself  in  the  convent  of  his  order,  and 
set  himself  to  watch. 

All  Giannetto's  old  passion  for  the  sea  returned 
when  he  again  beheld  it.  In  all  weathers,  at  all 
hours,  he  was  out, — now  gliding  along  the  silent 
canals  in  the  smooth,  swift  gondola — now  rowing 
far  out  of  the  town  and  beyond  the  wide  lagoons, 
dancing  on  the  waves,  and  feeling  a  wild  enjoy- 
ment in  his  freedom.  He  was  never  still ;  a  sort 
of  burning,  overpowering  restlessness  seemed  to 


96  GIANNETTO. 

possess  him,  body  and  soul.  He  was  always 
singing :  when  at  home,  bending  over  his  little 
child,  he  would  sing  softly  and  sweetly,  till  the 
tears  welled  into  Elvira's  eyes  ;  when  tossing  on 
the  sea,  and  the  wind  and  waves  were  high,  the 
passers-by  leaned  forward  with  rapture,  listening 
to  his  wild  and  thrilling  tones,  then  drew  back 
within  the  shelter  of  their  gondolas  with  a  shud- 
der, at  they  knew  not  what. 

Nothing  seemed  to  affect  his  voice.  When  the 
violent  heat  came  on,  and  the  other  singers  at 
the  opera  found  their  voices  becoming  weak  and 
hoarse,  his  was  the  same  as  ever — there  was  no 
variation  in  its  power.  After  singing  the  whole 
night  it  was  clear  and  strong  as  at  the  beginning. 
His  fellow-actors  became  uneasy  and  suspicious, 
though  of  what  they  could  not  define  ;  but  invol- 
untarily they  drew  further  and  further  aloof  from 
him,  so  that  he  and  Elvira  found  themselves 
without  friends,  and  with  but  few  acquaintances, 
in  Venice. 

It  was  a  calm  sultry  evening  in  Jury,  and  Gi- 
annetto  had  been  out  all  through  the  afternoon. 
He  was  weary  and  heated,  and  lay  back  in  his 
gondola,  leaving  its  guidance  (not  according  to 


GIANNETTO.  97 

his  wont)  to  the  gondolier.  As  they  glided 
through  the  streets,  the  strong  smell  of  the  al- 
most stagnant  water  sickened  him.  "Hasten  !  " 
he  said;  "an  extra  buona-mano  for  speed." 

The  gondolier  smiled,  and  bent  more  willingly 
on  his  long  oar.  "The  Signore  is  generous,"  he 
said.  "I  was  idle,  I  was  not  working  with  a 
will ;  but  times  are  bad,  and,  heaven  help  us !  we 
have  become  lazy." 

"Times  are  always  bad  in  Venice,"  said  Gian- 
netto,  irritably;  "it  is  always  the  same  story 
with  you  all." 

The  man  gave  a  little  patient  sigh.  The  gon- 
dola skimmed  out  of  the  Grand  Canal,  and 
stopped  before  the  steps  of  a  palace  on  one  of 
the  smaller  canals.  Giannetto  paid  him,  and 
stepped  lightly  out. 

It  was  a  very  old  and  crumbling,  though  once 
fine,  building,  this  Palazzo  Lucchetti,  in  which 
Giannetto  and  his  family  had  taken  apartments. 
One  large  room  with  hanging  balconies  looked 
on  to  the  Grand  Canal,  but  the  long  facade  of 
the  palace  was  on  the  smaller  street.  Beautiful 
it  was  in  its  decay,  with  its  walls  of  great  hewn 
stones,  in  which  the  rusted  iron  rings  for  torches 
7 


98  GIANNETTO. 

yet  remained.  The  posts  to  which  the  gondolas 
were  fastened  still  bore  the  bright  colors  of  the 
old  family  to  whom  the  palace  had  belonged,  and 
from  whom  it  had  taken  its  name  ;  but  the  dark 
water  scarcely  showed  their  reflections,  the  paint 
was  so  faded  away.  Everything  spoke  of  sad- 
ness and  desolation — of  a  city  whose  glory  is  de- 
parted. 

Giannetto  mounted  the  broad  white  steps, 
passed  through  the  small  court-yard — where  a  few 
thirsty  orange-trees  drooped  and  pined  for  want 
of  care — up  a  marble  staircase,  and  into  a  suite 
of  long  lofty  rooms.  They  were  hung  with  old, 
faded  green  silk ;  but  the  heavy  stucco  ceilings, 
richly  gilt  and  painted,  retained  somewhat  of 
their  original  lustre. 

Through  three  of  these  rooms  Giannetto  passed, 
till  he  reached  the  furthest,  that  overhanging  the 
Grand  Canal,  which  was  Elvira's  favorite  apart- 
ment. 

It  was  nearly  dark,  the  windows  carefully 
closed  with  dark-blue  blinds,  excepting  one  which 
had  been  set  wide  open,  and  admitted  a  stream 
of  almost  visible  heat. 

On  the  floor  in  front  of  this  window,  and  on 


GIANNETTO.  99 

the  balcony  without,  five  or  six  pigeons,  beauti- 
ful in  their  soft  opal  plumage,  were  pecking  up 
bits  of  bread  and  cake  ;  and  among  them,  with 
bare  feet  and  shoulders,  sat  the  dark-eyed  little 
child,  Felicita.  The  pigeons  were  billing  and 
cooing  all  round  her,  some  venturing  even  to  hop 
on  her  tiny  feet,  causing  her  to  crow  with  delight. 

As  Giannetto  entered,  Elvira  came  forward 
from  the  dark  corner  where  she  had  been  seated, 
and  pointed  to  the  child.  "See,  Nino,"  she  said 
(for  so  she  called  him) — "look,  Nino  mine! — is 
it  not  pretty  ?  The  pigeons  of  St.  Mark  love  our 
little  child  ;  they  come  thus  every  day."  Gian- 
netto thought  lovingly  that  she  looked  as  pretty 
and  as  pure  as  the  little  stainless  child  ;  he  looked 
down  on  her  very  fondly.  "Alas!"  she  said, 
pressing  her  soft  hand  on  his  brow,  "how  it 
burns  !  It  is  too  hot ;  you  should  not  go  out  in 
the  great  heat  on  days  like  these." 

Giannetto  advanced  to  the  little  Felicita,  and 
held  out  his  hands.  At  his  approach  the  pigeons 
took  alarm,  and  began  to  fly  out  of  the  window. 
"See,"  said  Giannetto,  bitterly,  "all  good  and 
holy  things  fly  at  my  approach  ! " 

Elvira  hastily  snatched  up  her  child  and  held 


100  GIANNETTO. 

it  towards  her  husband,  smiling.      The  little  one 
put  out  her  arms,  and  jumped  to  be  taken. 

"Here,  Nino,"  she  replied;  "there  is  the  best 
answer.  Those  foolish  pigeons  know  quite  well 
that  a  child  cannot  hurt  them ;  but  they  have 
not  the  same  confidence  in  a  man.  Sometimes 
even  persons  as  well  as  pigeons  think  you  rather 
formidable — just  now  and  then,"  she  added,  her 
voice  quivering  a  little. 

"Not  you,  Elvira?  You  at  least  are  never 
afraid  of  me?" 

"No,  no;  not  I.  Why  should  I  fear  you? 
You  are  always  good  to  me — too  good  by  far ; 
but  others — I  cannot  tell  why — many  others 
think  you  much  to  be  dreaded.  But  here  is 
Manna :  she  has  come  to  take  Felicita  to  bed ; 
she  has  not  been  well  to-day.  Nino,  feel  her 
hands  and  her  little  head ;  they  are  burning ! 
And  one  little  cheek  is  so  scarlet,  the  other  so 
pale !  All  day  she  has  been  heavy  and  sleepy, 
and,  till  the  pigeons  came  in,  she  has  scarcely 
noticed  anything." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  said  Giannetto,  kissing 
the  upturned  face  ;  "  what  ails  my  little  one  ?  " 

"All!"  said  the  nurse,  as  she  lifted  and  car- 


CIANNETTO.  101 

ried  the  child  away,  "it  must  be  her  teeth.  If 
the  Signora  would  only  let  me  give  her  some  of 
that  medicine  I  told  her  of." 

"No,  no;  put  her  to  sleep,  Manna,  and  give 
her  no  medicines."     The  nurse  left  the  room. 

Giannetto  had  thrown  himself  down  on  a  hard 
green  sofa,  and  Elvira  quietly  seated  herself  on 
the  ground  beside  him,  holding  and  fondling  his 
hand. 

"Nino,"  she  began  hesitatingly,  "you  love  lit- 
tle Felicita  very  much?" 

"Of  course  I  love  her." 

"Nino,  you  would  not  like  her  to  go  away,  and 
never  see  or  think  of  you  again  ?  It  would  grieve 
you,  would  it  not  ?  " 

Giannetto  started  up,  and  snatched  away  his 
hand.  "Elvira,  cannot  you  let  me  alone?  I 
know  well  what  you  mean.  When  will  you  cease 
to  plague  me  on  this  subject  ?  I  have  told  you 
again  and  again  that  these  feelings  of  which  you 
speak — these  natural  affections,  as  you  call  them 
— are  those  only  of  an  educated  mind.  A  peas- 
ant like  my  mother  is  not  thus  sentimental." 

"  But,  Nino,  you  do  not  know,  you  cannot  tell, 
what  a  mother's  love  is,  and  always  must  be. 


102  GIANNETTO. 

Educated !  Why,  look  at  the  very  animals,  how 
they  love  their  children  ! " 

"Until  they  are  grown  up,"  said  Giannetto — 
"till  they  are  independent  of  them — and  then 
they  throw  them  off.  Believe  me,  Elvira,  your 
pity  is  wasted  on  my  mother.  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  her ;  she  would  not  care  to  see  me, — and — 
and — I  cannot  go  home." 

Elvira  sighed.  After  a  little  pause  she  said, 
gently,  "Nino  mine,  do  you  not  think  sometimes 
that  there  are  duties  which  should  not  be  left 
undone,  however  painful  they  may  be?  Nino, 
she  was  left  a  widow  very  young  ;  she  toiled  for 
you,  suffered  for  you,  wept  for  you  ;  and — indeed, 
indeed,  she  loves  you  still." 

Giannetto  turned  round  suddenly — "How  do 
you  know?  "What  do  you  mean?  Have  you 
heard  anything  ?     Answer,  Elvira ! " 

Elvira  took  a  thin,  carefully-written  letter  from 
her  pocket:  "See,"  she  said — "my  mother  has 
just  sent  me  this  ;  she  writes  a  few  lines  herself 
to  say  that,  as  it  was  directed  to  me,  she  had 
opened  and  read  it.  But,  Nino,  Nino,  what  is 
the  matter?     Are  you  ill?" 

Giannetto   had  become  as  white  as  a  sheet. 


GIANNETTO.  103 

He  had  at  once  recognized  the  handwriting  of 
the  priest  of  San  Jacopo.  He  snatched  the  let- 
ter from  her ;  it  was  not  long,  and  a  glance  reas- 
sured him — his  secret  was  safe. 

As  he  sank  back,  the  drops  of  perspiration 
stood  on  his  brow.  "It  is  nothing,  nothing,  El- 
vira," he  said  ;  "only  a  sudden  pain.  Read  me 
the  letter."  Elvira  was  not  satisfied  till  she  had 
bathed  his  forehead  with  orange-flower  water ; 
and  she  sat  fanning  him  with  one  hand,  while 
holding  the  letter  in  the  other.  Giannetto  ac- 
quiesced, willing  that  she  should  attribute  his 
sudden  agitation  to  illness. 

This  secret  between  himself  and  his  wife  was 
becoming  unbearable  to  him.  He  lived  in  a  per- 
petual dread  lest  Elvira  should  learn  the  partic- 
ulars of  his  early  history  ;  and  he  felt  a  sort  of 
conviction  that,  his  secret  once  revealed,  their 
severance  would  become  inevitable. 

"Now,  Elvira,"  he  said,  "read  me  the  letter. 
I  wonder  why  he  should  write  to  you  instead  of 
to  me  this  time?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  rather  timidly — "perhaps 
some  letter  of  yours  has  been  lost.  Indeed,  so  it 
must  be ;  for  he  says  they  have  had  no  news  of 
you  for  very  long.     I  will  read  it."     She  began  : 


104  GIANNETTO. 

"Signora, — I  feel  that,  without  doubt,  you  may- 
look  upon  my  presuming  to  write  to  you  as  a 
great  impertinence,  and  that  I  have  scarcely  a 
right  to  do  so ;  but  the  very  great  interest  and 
solicitude  I  have  always  felt  for  your  husband 
cause  me  to  beg  for  your  indulgence.  It  is  now 
a  long  time  since  I  have  received  any  answer  to 
my  letters,  and  I  have  no  news  of  him  to  tell  to 
his  mother,  so  that  she  is  breaking  her  heart ; 
and  for  her  sake  I  have  ventured  to  appeal  to 
you,  who  are  also  a  woman,  and  can  understand 
better  than  a  man  what  it  is  to  feel  herself  for- 
gotten by  a  son  for  whom  she  has  toiled,  and  la- 
bored, and  suffered  so  much.  The  last  we  heard 
of  him  was,  that  he  had  taken  a  wife,  and  that  in 
you  he  had  found  perfect  happiness.  He  also 
told  us  that  he  is  not  your  equal  in  birth — that 
you  are  a  lady ;  and  it  appears  to  me  possible, 
in  that  case,  that  you  may  be  ashamed  of  the 
poor  old  peasant-mother,  and  wish  to  keep  her 
son  entirely  away  from  her.  Is  this  true  ?  Ah  ! 
if  God  has  given  you  also  a  little  child,  you  will 
be  better  able  to  understand  what  her  feelings 
must  be  ;  for  she  has  been  a  very  fond  and  lov- 
ing mother,  and  for  many  years  he  was  all  in  all 


GIANNETTO.  105 

to  lier.  She  grows  old  now,  and  is  worn  out  with 
care  and  pining  for  him ;  and  though  you  have 
both  been  very  good,  and  sent  her  money  con- 
stantly, she  often  says  that  could  she  see  your 
husband  once  again,  it  would  do  her  more  good 
than  all  the  comforts  the  money  gives  her.  Can 
you  not  both  come  to  San  Jacopo  ?  You  shall 
be  treated  as  becomes  your  position  ;  I  will  see 
to  that.  Tell  your  husband  that  all  his  old 
friends  and  companions  are  well — " 

"I  had  no  friends,  no  companions,"  broke  in 
Giannetto,  angrily.     "  The  man  is  in  his  dotage ! " 

Elvira  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  before 
she  resumed  her  reading. 

"Tell  him  also  that,  should  he  come,  they  will 
all  welcome  him  warmly.  Several  changes  have 
taken  place.  Pietro's  wife  is  dead,  the  good  Bal- 
dovinetta  ;  and  he  has  married  again,  old  Masa- 
niello's  youngest  daughter,  whom  we  used  to  call 
'Brutta  e  buona,'  and  she  makes  him  an  excel- 
lent wife.  Tonino  has  been  apprenticed  to  An- 
drea Castagno,  and  is  a  clever  lad.  Andrea  kept 
on  the  new  boat  after  his  father's  death  in  the 
great  storm,  though  he  was  but  sixteen  at  tho 
time  ;  and,  by  the  blessing  of  San  Jacopo,  he  has 


106  GIANNETTO. 

succeeded  very  well.  I  have  employed  the  last 
sum  of  money  your  husband  sent  in  buying  for 
Carola  that  large  vigna  behind  the  place  where 
old  Nicolo's  cottage  stood,  that  was  washed  away; 
and  she  hires  his  son,  Ceccho,  to  cultivate  it, 
and  keeps  a  mule  of  her  own.  It  is  her  one  hap- 
piness to  think  that  all  these  riches  came  from 
her  beloved  son ;  but  one  moment's  sight  of  him 
in  his  own  person  would  be  the  richest  gift  he 
could  bestow  upon  her — and  she  wearies  Ma- 
donna to  grant  her  this  blessing.  Dear  Signora, 
forgive  me  if  I  take  too  great  a  liberty  in  thus 
addressing  you ;  but  I  also  am  growing  old  and 
infirm,  and  Giannetto — " 

Elvira  paused.  "  Giannetto !  Who  is  Gian- 
netto?" she  said.  "It  is  I,"  answered  her  hus- 
band, with  ill-concealed  impatience.  "That  was 
the  foolish  name  I  always  went  by.  I  dropped 
it,  for  I  hate  the  very  sound  of  it." 

"Foolish!  oh  no.  I  like  the  name — your 
mother's  pet  name  for  you."  She  returned  to 
her  letter — 

"And  Giannetto  was  as  dear  to  me  as  any  son 
could  be  to  his  father ;  so  that,  in  addressing  his 
wife,  I  feel  as  if  I  must  know  her  already.     If  it 


GIANNETTO.  107 

be  in  your  power,  then,  let  Giannetto  come  back 
to  his  mother, — not  to  stay — I  know  well,  and 
have  explained  to  her,  the  different  sphere  of 
society  to  which  he  has  attained.  "We  would  not, 
for  the  world,  that  he  should  give  up  his  new 
pursuits,  companions,  or  friends.  Only  this  I  ask 
— and  further,  I  am  bold  enough  to  demand,  as  a 
Christian  priest — that  he  should  now  and  then 
remember  that  he  is  the  only  son  of  his  mother, 
and  she  a  widow." 

The  letter  dropped  from  Elvira's  hand,  and  she 
turned  her  brown,  wistful  eyes  on  her  husband. 
He  did  not  speak. 

"It  is  a  touching  letter,  Nino.  The  poor 
mother  must  have  suffered  very  much.  Is  it 
quite  impossible  that,  when  we  leave  Venice,  we 
should  go  to  San  Jacopo?  only  for  a  few  days — 
for  one  day  even  ?  " 

Giannetto  leaped  off  the  sofa,  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  room.  "Elvira,"  he  said,  his  face 
full  of  keen  distress,  "listen  to  what  I  say.  What 
you  ask  is  an  impossibility.  I  cannot,  and  I  will 
not,  return  there.  I  cannot  tell  you  why — it  con- 
cerns myself  alone ;  but,  Elvira,  trust  me,  it  is  a 
sufficient  reason.    There  are  some  things  in  which 


108  GIANNETTO. 

a  wife  must  trust  her  husband  implicitly  without 
striving  to  understand  them,  and  this  is  one  of 
them." 

"And  the  poor  mother?"  murmured  Elvira. 

Giannetto  stamped  on  the  ground  in  real  anger. 
"  Elvira,  do  not  go  on  like  this.  You  do  not  know 
what  you  are  talking  of.  I  will  take  care  that 
that  meddling  priest  does  not  come  between  you 
and  me." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Giannetto  ! "  she  cried,  rising  from 
the  ground  and  clasping  her  hands  ;  "do  not  say 
what  you  will  repent  of  as  soon  as  said.  I  will 
say  no  more,  I  promise  you  ;  but  oh,  Nino — " 

"You  will  say  no  more  ;  you  have  passed  your 
word?" 

"Nino!  Nino!" 

"It  is  a  promise,"  he  repeated,  distinctly. 

Giannetto  took  up  the  letter,  tore  it  into  a 
thousand  pieces,  and  tossed  them  out  of  the  win- 
dow. Elvira  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
bitter  tears  forcing  themselves  through  her 
clasped  fingers. 

Giannetto  stood  and  looked  at  her  wistfully. 
After  a  few  moments,  she  pushed  back  the  masses 
of  dark  hair  from  her  brow,  and  came  up  to  his 


GIANNETTO.  109 

side,  raising  her  sweet  face  to  be  kissed.  He 
clasped  her  suddenly  to  him.  "Elvira!  Elvira! 
if  I  only  could — if  I  only  dared — "  he  stopped, 
the  full  consequences  of  what  he  might  say  flash- 
ing upon  him.  "  But,  Elvira,  you  will  trust  me  ; 
you,  at  least,  will  always  trust  me?" 

"With  my  whole  heart,  Nino,"  she  answered. 
"  God  will  direct  you  aright.  I  will  have  faith  in 
you.     You  are  cold,  Nino  ;  you  shiver." 

"No,  no  ;  it  is  nothing — only  that  pain  again." 
Both  their  hearts  were  heavy  that  night. 
Giannetto  came  home  late  from  the  opera.  After 
all  was  over,  he  had  rowed  far  out  to  sea,  striving 
to  regain  calmness.  He  had  been  singing  mag- 
nificently. Applause  resounded  through  the  the- 
atre, and  from  every  side  bouquets  fell  upon  the 
stage.  The  heat  was  intense,  but  the  house  was 
crowded.  But  as  he  came  off  the  stage,  he  could 
not  help  observing  that,  even  while  congratulating 
him,  his  fellow-actors  shrank  from  him,  and 
whispered  behind  his  back.  He  felt  very  sore 
and  aggrieved.  And  there  was  this  ever- present 
trouble,  too,  between  himself  and  his  wife.  It 
was  all  very  hard  to  bear.  Weary  and  heart-sick, 
he  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  and  sank  into  the 
heavy  sleep  of  exhausted  nature. 


110  GTANNETTO. 

Elvira,  after  lie  left  lier  for  the  theatre,  stole 
quietly  away  to  her  child.  She  •  dismissed  the 
nurse,  and  sat  watching  it  far  into  the  hot  sum- 
mer night. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

ABOUT  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  violent 
ringing  of  a  bell  echoed  through  the  Palazzo 
Lucchetti,  and  Giannetto  was  aroused  by  a  light 
gleaming  in  his  face.  Elvira,  white  and  terrified, 
stood  beside  him.  "Nino,  Nino,  get  up!  quick, 
quick  !  there  is  no  time  to  lose  !  The  child  is  ill. 
Oh,  Nino  !  I  fear  she  is  dying ! " 

Giannetto  sprang  out  of  bed.  "What  is  it, 
Elvira  ?     What  must  I  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fly,  fly  for  a  doctor !  Call  any  one — only 
be  quick !  be  quick  !  or  she  will  die  ! " 

Elvira  hastened  away  swiftly  as  she  had  come. 
Giannetto  dressed  himself  hurriedly,  and  followed 
her  to  the  room  where  the  child  lay.  Terrible 
was  the  shock  that  awaited  him.  The  little  one 
lay  in  Elvira's  lap,  passing  from  one  convulsion 
into  another.  None  could  have  recognized  in 
that  face,  so  distorted  and  changed,  the  sweet 
calm  of  little  Felicita. 


112  GIANNETTO. 

Elvira  looked  up,  almost  wild  in  her  anxiety. 
"  Not  gone  yet !  Nino,  Nino,  every  moment  is  an 
hour ! — not  yet !  Manna,  you  go  !  quick !  we 
may  yet  save  her ;  you  know  of  some  doctor  ? 
Oh,  go !  go  ! " 

Manna,  who  had  been  kneeling  by  the  child, 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  rushed  from  the  room, 
leaving  the  father  and  mother  alone. 

Elvira  did  not  speak,  but  now  and  then  a  little 
moan  came  from  her  lips. 

Giannetto^sat  down,  drawing  his  chair  forward 
and  looking  down  on  the  child.  "Elvira,"  he 
said,  hoarsely,  "will  she  die?  is  she  going  to 
die  ?  "  Her  sole  answer  was  to  raise  her  eyes  to 
his  with  a  look  of  agony.  They  sat  watching — 
how  long,  they  knew  not ;  it  seemed  a  year, 
though  in  reality  but  a  few  minutes. 

An  old  doctor  was  living  in  an  upper  apartment 
in  the  Palazzo,  and  to  him  Manna  and  the  land- 
lady went.  He  came  at  once  ;  and  in  five  minutes 
the  little  one  was  placed  in  a  warm  bath,  and  for 
the  time  the  danger  was  over.  For  hours  they 
sat  and  watched.  The  little  face  regained  its  soft 
calm,  the  tossing  limbs  grew  still,  and  she  sank 
into  a  sweet  calm  sleep.     They  wrapped  her  in 


GIANNETTO.  213 

warm  blankets  and  laid  her  on  her  bed.  The 
doctor  felt  her  pulse  ;  it  was  even  now,  but  for  an 
occasional  wild  throb.  He  turned  to  Elvira  and 
said,  "  She  will  do  well  now,  if  I  mistake  not ;  but 
give  her  the  medicine  I  send  you  as  often  as  you 
can." 

He  was  going,  but  Elvira  stopped  him.  "Par- 
don me,"  she  said,  "but  tell  me  the  real  truth — 
will  she  die?" 

The  old  doctor  looked  at  her  very  compassion- 
ately. "Poor  Signora,"  he  said,  "you  must  not 
hope  too  much.  I  have  never  seen  a  more  violent 
attack  ;  and  if  it  comes  again — "  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

Every  trace  of  color  fled  out  of  Elvira's  face 
and  lips,  and  she  grasped  Giannetto's  arm  to 
support  herself. 

"Why  tell  her  this?"  he  exclaimed,  passion- 
ately. "Why  should  you  make  it  worse  by  tell- 
ing her  beforehand?" 

The  doctor  looked  rather  displeased.  "  Some 
say  'tell,'  some  'conceal.'  I,  for  my  part,  speak 
the  truth  when  I  am  asked ;  and  you,  sir,  should 
have  the  complaisance  to  hear  me  finish  what  I 
have  to  say.  If,  by  giving  the  proper  medicines, 
8 


114  GIANNETTO. 

and  having  a  warm  bath  always  ready,  you  can 
keep  off  the  attacks,  well ;  if  not — " 

He  took  off  his  spectacles,  beginning  to  wipe 
them  with  his  large  blue  handkerchief.  Gian- 
netto  sat  down  again  moodily.  With  a  deep 
bow,  which  all  were  too  much  preoccupied  to  ac- 
knowledge, the  doctor  quitted  the  room. 

They  heard  him  speaking  outside  to  a  little 
group  of  servants  and  lodgers,  drawn  together  by 
sympathy  and  curiosity,  headed  by  the  Padrona 
or  landlady.  "  It  is  a  bad  case,  Signora  Padrona 
— a  bad  case  ;  and  I  fear  me  they  will  lose  their 
child.  The  first  child,  you  say?  It  is  a  pity; 
but  it  is  the  will  of  Heaven.  If  the  convulsions 
come  on  again,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  Signora 
Padrona,  have  a  priest  in  the  way  with  the  holy 
unction  ;  for  they  are  frightfully  violent,  and  the 
child  is  very  weak.  "Was  there  no  one  to  tell 
them  to  put  it  in  hot  water  at  once  ?  What  fools 
people  are  !  and  the  women  in  especial !  But  it 
is  too  true.  The  mother  is  very  young,  and  it  is 
a  first  child.  A  thousand  thanks,  Signora ;  no 
wine,  but  I  would  take  a  cup  of  coffee  with  cog- 
nac. A  thousand  thanks.  With  permission,  I 
will  wait  here,  and  will  snatch  a  moment's  sleep 
— I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  go  up-stairs. 


GIANNETTO.  \\§ 

All !  there  is  the  coffee — none  in  Venice  like 
yours,  Signora  Padrona.  It  is  now  striking  the 
six  hours.  Well,  well,  I  will  take  a  little  more 
repose."  And  the  rough  but  kindly  old  doctor 
stretched  himself  on  a  couple  of  hard  old-fash- 
ioned chairs. 

The  day  came  on,  and  grew  into  a  fierce  glare 
of  heat,  and  still  the  little  one  slept.  The  blinds 
were  drawn  down,  and  kept  constantly  wetted  by 
Manna  with  cold  water  ;  and  a  huge  block  of  ice 
sent  in  by  the  landlady  helped  to  keep  the  room 
comparatively  cool. 

All  day  Elvira  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  little 
simple  books  of  devotion  by  her  side,  which  now 
and  then  she  took  up.  She  could  only  read  a 
few  lines  at  a  time,  but  they  suggested  thoughts 
on  which  she  strove  to  fix  her  mind.  When 
Manna  brought  her  food,  she  ate  it  mechanically, 
for  she  knew  that  she  must  not  waste  her  strength. 
Giannetto  was  so  restless  that  she  persuaded 
him  to  go  out  when  midday  had  passed. 

The  doctor  came  in  constantly.  Elvira  be- 
lieved that  all  was  going  on  well ;  but  he  did  not 
like  the  heavy  sleep  of  the  child,  and  often  de- 
sired it  to  be  roused,  to  swallow  medicine. 


116  GIANNETTO. 

Evening  came  again  ;  the  sun  went  down  in  a 
bath  of  liquid  fire,  and  fierce  rays  of  dark  crim- 
son streaked  the  sky,  still  purple  with  glowing 
heat. 

Giannetto  came  softly  in.  "  How  is  she  ?  how 
is  she  doing  now?"  he  whispered.  "Just  the 
same.     Thank  God  for  this  long  sweet  sleep." 

Elvira  moved  slowly  to  the  little  bed.  As  she 
gazed,  a  look  of  horror  came  over  her  face — the 
convulsions  had  returned.  "Nino!  Manna!  it 
has  come  again ! — quick  !  fly ! "  Giannetto  flew 
up-stairs  for  the  doctor  ;  Manna  brought  forward 
the  bath.  The  doctor,  as  he  came  hastily  down, 
called  out,  "Signora  Padrona — Signora,  quick! 
send  for  him  at  once,"  and  he  followed  Giannetto 
into  the  room. 

The  landlady  knew  only  too  well  whom  and 
what  he  meant.  Down  she  went,  on  to  the  steps 
at  the  door,  and  hastily  called  to  a  gondolier. 

She  was  just  about  to  step  off  the  stairs,  when 
another  gondola  came  gliding  swiftly  round  the 
corner,  under  the  canopy  of  which,  with  his  hands 
folded  in  his  habit,  sat  the  stern,  upright  figure 
of  a  Franciscan  monk. 

"Padre!  padre!"  she  shouted,  at  the  utmost 


GIANNETTO.  \yi 

pitch  of  her  shrill  Italian  voice.  "  Padre !  for 
the  love  of  God  ! " 

The  friar  started  from  his  apparent  reverie. 
"  Stop,"  he  said  to  the  gondolier.    "  I  am  wanted." 

The  landlady  bent  forward, — "Father,"  she 
repeated,  "if  you  are  a  priest,  come  in — come  in 
at  once.  A  child  is  dying — the  only  child  of  Gi- 
ovanni, the  great  singer." 

The  friar  stepped  out  of  his  gondola,  and  fol- 
lowed the  kind-hearted  woman,  as,  breathless 
and  almost  sobbing,  she  hastened  up  the  stairs. 
"It  is  the  hand  of  God,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

On  they  went,  through  the  long  suite  of  cool 
rooms,  across  the  gallery  at  the  end,  into  the 
sick-chamber. 

One  single  glance  was  enough — they  were  too 
late. 

The  room  was  full  of  people.  Elvira  sat  upon 
the  floor  with  the  child  on  her  lap.  Manna  had 
lifted  it  out  of  the  bath,  and  placed  it  there ; 
and,  all  unheeded,  the  water  was  dripping  from 
its  soft  brown  hair.  As  if  turned  to  stone,  the 
mother's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  tiny  corpse. 
Manna's  sobs  rang  through  the  room  ;  the  others, 
mere  spectators  of  the  scene,  lodgers  and  servants 


113  GIANNETTO. 

in  the  house,  stood  close  round,  and  now  and 
then  one  of  them  spoke  a  gentle  word  of  sympa- 
thy. Giannetto  remained  motionless,  with  his 
arms  folded,  as  he  had  stood  to  watch  his  child 
die. 

This  was  the  scene  that  met  their  eyes  as  the 
door  opened. 

All  made  way  involuntarily  as  Era  Geronimo 
(for  he  it  was)  entered.  All  knelt  when  he  ap- 
proached— all  but  one,  the  unhappy  father,  who, 
as  the  first  sacred  words  broke  the  silence,  stole 
away,  crouching,  creeping,  cringing,  as  the  voice 
of  prayer  upraised  itself  to  heaven.  Outside  the 
door  he  stood,  alone,  an  outcast  from  God  and 
man. 

They  removed  Elvira  from  the  room.  Gently, 
tenderly  they  carried  her  away,  and  laid  her  on 
the  green  couch  in  the  large  empty  room.  She 
was  not  insensible,  but  she  lay  stunned  and  tear- 
less, without  moving,  where  they  placed  her. 
They  threw  the  window  wide  open  and  let  in  the 
evening  air ;  one  little  ray  still  lingered  from  the 
dying  sunset,  and  checkered  the  polished  floor. 
They  sought  for  Giannetto,  and  sent  him  to  her 
there.      The  friar  was  gone.      He  knew  that  this 


GIANNETTO.  \\<§ 

was  not  his  time — that  for  his  work  patience  was 
needful. 

Giannetto  stole  in,  and  sat  clasping  his  wife's 
hand,  which  lay  in  his  quite  cold  and  motionless. 

Peck,  peck,  peck!  what  was  that?  and  then 
that  soft-sounding  cooing?  Motionless  they 
watched.  One  by  one,  pluming  their  soft  wings, 
billing  and  cooing  to  each  other,  the  pigeons  of 
St.  Mark  came  gently  in.  They  looked  for  the 
tiny  hand  that  had  fed  them,  for  the  little  one 
that  had  loved  them  so  well. 

Peck,  peck — there  was  no  bread  to-day.  Was 
it  only  imaginary  that  the  cooing  voices  took  a 
wondering  sound?  They  came  closer,  turning 
their  pearly  heads  from  side  to  side,  passing  in 
and  out  of  the  dying  ray  of  light. 

Elvira  suddenly  started  forward  and  burst  into 
a  wild  fit  of  hysterical  weeping.  With  a  wild 
whir  of  terror,  the  pigeons  flew  away. 

The  storm  of  grief  let  loose  seemed  to  shake 
her  from  head  to  foot ;  her  self-command  had 
given  way,  and  she  knew  not  what  she  said. 
Clinging,  holding  on  to  Giannetto,  she  poured 
out  the  agony  of  her  grief ;  now  imploring  him  to 
tell  her  what  the  secret  was  that  kept  them  apart, 


120  GIANNETTO. 

now  telling  him  that  she  could  and  would  trust 
him,  but  he  must  not  look  at  her  like  that,  not  be 
angry  with  her  ;  for  her  child  was  dead,  and  there 
was  nothing  left  to  her  but  him.  Then  she  would 
call  upon  the  child,  calling  her  her  comfort,  her 
only  hope  for  Nino's  conversion.  Fits  of  ex- 
haustion followed,  but  the  slightest  word  brought 
back  the  flood  of  agony. 

So  through  the  long,  long  night,  till  another 
morning  dawned.  Then  Giannetto  took  his  pale 
wife  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  from  the  chamber. 
She  let  him  do  what  he  wished  with  her,  follow- 
ing him  whither  he  would. 

Down  the  silent  canals,  they  passed,  crossed 
the  piazza  of  St  Mark,  to  the  door  of  the  great 
cathedral.  "  Go  in,"  he  murmured  hoarsely ;  and 
she  obeyed. 

Compared  to  the  outer  air  it  was  dark,  but  she 
saw  at  once  what  her  eyes  mechanically  sought. 
Before  the  high  altar  stood  a  little  bier,  covered 
by  a  pall  as  white  as  driven  snow ;  wreaths  of 
lovely  flowers  lay  round  and  upon  it,  not  all 
white,  but  red,  and  purple,  and  gold,  glowing 
with  colors,  typical  of  that  glory  to  which  the 
child  had  attained.  Elvira  sank  upon  her  knees, 
and  her  heart  rose  up  in  fervent  prayer. 


GTANXETTO. 


121 


In  a  far  corner  of  the  cathedral,  where  it  was 
all  dark  and  in  shadow,  knelt  the  Franciscan, 
pale  from  fasting,  exhausted  by  the  vigils  of  a 
long  night,  in  which,  in  pain  and  penance,  he  had 
been  wrestling  for  a  fallen  soul. 


CHAPTEE  IX 


i 


AM  sure  we  shall  be  too  early,  John,"  said 
Amy  to  her  husband.  "Nonsense,  Amy; 
we  are  not  in  London.  Kemember  how  early 
Roman  hours  are." 

They  were  driving  up  to  the  door  of  a  house  in 
Rome  one  evening  on  which  some  English  friends 
had  a  large  party.  It  was  a  soft  oppressive  even- 
ing ;  the  sirocco  had  been  blowing  all  day,  making 
the  air  heavy  and  languid.  They  drove  rattling 
under  the  covered  doorway,  the  heavy  Roman 
carriage-horses  stopping  with  a  suddenness  which 
threw  Amy  forward. 

"Howl  hate  that  way  of  stopping!"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  shook  out  her  ruffled  plumes,  and 
followed  the  porter  up-stairs. 

The  room  in  which  the  lady  of  the  house  re- 
ceived her  guests  was  pretty  and  peculiar.  It 
had  often  been  used  for  private  theatricals,  and 
possessed  a  recess  between  the  two  tall  French 


GIANNETTO.  123 

windows,  filled  by  a  raised  orchestra  or  stage, 
now  brilliant  with  flowers,  and  enlivened  by  a 
large  cage  full  of  little  merry  birds.  The  hostess, 
seeing  that  Amy  was  watching  them,  told  her 
that  they  were  a  constant  source  of  anxiety  to 
her  children ;  for,  from  time  to  time,  three  or 
four  of  the  poor  little  prisoners  disappeared,  and 
such  a  disappearance  was  too  often  followed  by 
a  dish  of  so-called  larks  at  dinner,  causing  most 
uncomfortable  misgivings. 

The  room  was  full  of  guests,  most  of  them 
English ;  but  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  German 
attaches,  who  looked  bored,  and  twirled  their  yel- 
low moustaches  ;  and  a  few  Italians,  chiefly  men. 
The  English  were  of  every  description, — young 
eldest  sons  "doing"  Home  ;  mammas  giving  fair, 
very  young  daughters,  a  first  taste  of  society  be- 
fore bringing  them  out  in  London ;  most  of  the 
regular  English  residents  in  Kome  ;  and  here  and 
there  an  Italian  artist,  very  much  out  of  his  ele- 
ment. 

There  was  a  little  music.  The  young  lady  of 
the  house  sang  tolerably,  and  her  music-master, 
a  small  dapper  Italian,  accompanied  her  in  high 
glee ;  for  she  sang  songs  composed  by  himself,  of 


124  GIANNETTO. 

the  very  weakest  description.  Ices  were  handed 
round  at  intervals,  and  tea,  from  which  the  Ital- 
ians shrank  back  involuntarily. 

The  mixture  of  social  elements  was  too  incon- 
gruous, conversation  flagged,  and  Amy  felt 
wearied.  She  pushed  open  the  half-closed  win- 
dow, and  went  out  to  enjoy  the  cool  of  the  little 
garden. 

It  was  very  pretty  in  its  own  way;  and  it 
amused  her  to  watch  a  tame  jackdaw  hopping 
about  on  the  wall,  with  its  head  very  much  on 
one  side.  There  was  a  good  deal  to  explore  and 
discover,  notwithstanding  the  diminutiveness  of 
the  place.  On  the  right  was  a  little  grotto,  cur- 
tained with  maidenhair  fern,  in  which  a  nymph 
in  white  marble,  nearly  the  size  of  life,  reposed, 
in  utter  disproportion  to  the  dimensions  of  her 
shrine.  There  was  a  little  grove  also ;  as  you 
wandered  through  its  mazes  you  came  upon  busts, 
and  statues,  and  fountains  full  of  gold-fish  ;  mauy 
of  the  busts  had  lost  their  noses,  but  they  were 
nevertheless  suggestive,  all  of  them  being  antique. 
Over  one  fountain  the  ivy  and  leaves  grew  very 
thickly,  and  half  hidden  among  them  lay  a  little 
marble  Cupid  asleep.     Amy,  wandering  about, 


GIANNETTO.  125 

was  bending  down  to  look  at  him  more  nearly, 
when  a  sound  from  the  drawing-room  made  her 
suddenly  turn  back  and  approach  the  window. 

It  was  a  sound  of  singing,  so  lovely  that  she 
would  not  interrupt  or  break  the  spell,  but  leaned 
against  the  wall  outside,  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
bush  of  scarlet  salvias,  which  contrasted  prettily 
with  the  soft  white  gown  she  wore. 

She  could  just  see  enough  to  perceive  that 
the  little  singing-master  was  accompanying ;  his 
mobile  Italian  face  was  screwed  into  an  expres- 
sion of  ecstasy,  as  the  glorious  full  notes  of  a 
wonderful  tenor  voice  swelled  through  the  room 
— now  it  rose  to  inconceivable  power,  now  soft- 
ened till  the  strain  was  almost  heavenly  in  its 
sweetness.  Amy  was  entranced ;  she  stood  mo- 
tionless till  the  last  sound  died  away.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  a  sudden  burst  of  applause, 
and  the  gentlemen  gathered  round  the  singer. 

Amy  took  advantage  of  the  movement,  and 
came  in  unobserved  amid  the  general  confusion. 
"Who  is  he?  What  is  his  name?"  she  asked 
her  nearest  neighbor. 

"It  is  Giovanni,  the  great  tenor;  he  has  just 
come  to  Eome.     Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  voice  ? 


12(3  GIANNETTO. 

is  it  not  lovely,  glorious  ?  "  And  the  old  English 
lady  whom  she  had  addressed  very  quietly  man- 
aged to  wipe  away  a  tear.  There  was  a  general 
hush ;  people  fell  back,  many  seated  themselves, 
and  Giovanni  sang  again. 

Amy  felt  the  sort  of  superstitions  dread  creep 
over  her  that  her  partial  knowledge  of  his  history 
gave.  She  could  not  take  her  eyes  off  his  face, 
it  .seemed  so  altered,  and  yet  so  like  what  it  had 
been  when  she  first  saw  him. 

The  second  song  over,  Giovanni  moved  away 
from  the  piano,  while  renewed  murmurs  of  ad- 
miration filled  the  room. 

The  crowd  made  way,  and  the  lady  of  the  house 
bustled  up  to  Amy.  "Allow  me  to  introduce 
Signora  Giovanni,"  she  said,  in  French,  adding, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  she  hurried  away, — "  his  wife, 
3'ou  know — she  is  anxious  to  be  presented  to  you." 

Amy  made  room  on  the  sofa  beside  her  for  the 
pale  but  still  lovely  Elvira,  who,  in  her  heavy 
black  velvet  gown,  looked  even  more  white  and 
frail  than  usual. 

"I  must  ask  a  thousand  pardons,  Signora,"  she 
began  at  once  ;  "but  your  likeness  to  your  sister 
struck  me  so  forcibly,  that  I  asked  who  you  were, 


GIANNETTO.  127 

and  could  not  resist  taking  the  liberty  of  begging 
to  be  presented  to  you." 

"I  am  very  glad  of  it,"  said  Amy;  "I  have 
heard  so  much  of  you  that  I  have  been  long 
anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  to  meet 
your  husband  again.  I  must  indeed  congratulate 
you.  What  a  talent !  What  a  singularly  beauti- 
ful voice ! " 

"  The  Signora  is  too  good.  Yes,  she  is  right ; 
it  is  a  wonderful  talent.  I  trust  that  the  Signor 
Conte  your  father  is  in  good  health;  and  your 
sister,  she  is  well?" 

"They  are  both  well;  and  it  will  give  them 
great  pleasure  to  hear  that  I  have  seen  you. 
They  have  often  spoken  to  me  of  you,  and  of  Sig- 
nor Giovanni, — and  the  baby,  little  Felicita,  is 
she  well?" 

Elvira  showed  no  more  signs  of  emotion  than 
the  quivering  of  her  voice,  as  she  answered — 
"Thank  you,  dear  Signora;  but  when  you  write 
to  them,  will  you  tell  them  that  she  is  dead  ?  " 

Amy  looked  and  felt  shocked  at  this  answer  to 
her  question  ;  but  Elvira  smiled  very  sweetly, 
and  went  on, —  "Are  your  little  children  well? 
The  Signora  Elena  used  to  tell  me  about  them 


128  GIANNETTO. 

when  we  were  at  Florence.  Are  they  with  you  ? 
But  no  !  Surely  you  have  not  brought  thern  so 
long  a  journey?" 

"No,  indeed!"  answered  Amy;  "they  are  too 
young.  I  thought  it  best  to  leave  them  at  home. 
Helen  has  charge  of  them." 

"Ah,  what  a  happiness  for  her ! " 

"By  the  by,  Signora  Giovanni,"  said  Amy,  sud- 
denly, "  do  you  ever  see  anything  of  a  certain  Era 
Geronimo,  a  Franciscan,  in  whom  my  father  was 
much  interested?  I  think  (but  I  am  not  sure) 
that  you  knew  him,  that  he  was  your  friend?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Elvira — "not  then;  but  it  is 
curious  that  you  should  ask.  We  did  not  know 
him  then.  Without  doubt,  we  mean  the  same 
person — the  great  preacher.  We  know  him  now  ; 
but  it  was  accidentally,  and  under  sad  circum- 
stances, that  we  first  met  him,  about  six  months 
ago,  at  Venice.  He  is  in  Borne  now,  I  under- 
stand ;  and  this  very  Sunday  that  comes,  he  is  to 
preach  at  Santa  Maria  del  Popolo.  If  the  Sig- 
nora has  not  heard  him,  she  should  go  ;  for  it  is 
a  wonderful  power,  and  given  to  few.  Do  you 
remain  long  in  Borne?  Are  you  interested? 
amused  ?  " 


GIANNETTO.  129 

"Very  much;  it  is  a  marvelous  place.  And 
you,  have  you  been  here  long?" 

"We  have  but  now  come.  My  husband  has 
accepted  a  very  short  engagement  till  the  begin- 
ning of  Lent.  We  have  been  lately  at  Turin  and 
at  Milan.  He  does  not  like  the  music  here, 
neither  the  pieces  given,  nor  the  musicians — they 
are  all  bad ;  there  is  no  school,  no  method,  he 
says,  except  in  the  Papal  choir,  and  that  stands 
by  itself,  apart.  They  are  ill-taught  at  the  opera  ; 
but  the  voices  are  good — fine  in  tone  and  quality." 

Giannetto  approached  his  wife.  "Elvira,"  he 
said,  "I  fear  that  we  must  take  leave  ;  for  I  have 
promised  to  sing  elsewhere  to-night."  Elvira 
rose,  and,  with  her  pretty  Italian  courtesy,  wished 
Amy  good-night. 

Scarcely  were  they  gone  when  a  perfect  buzz 
of  conversation  arose,  to  which  Amy  listened, 
anxious  to  hear  all  she  could  about  them.  One 
of  the  gentlemen  —  an  old  liabitue  of  Konian 
society — professed  to  know  more  than  any  one. 
He  was  talking  rather  mysteriously  as  Amy  drew 
her  chair  into  the  little  circle  which  had  formed 
itself  round  him. 

"Yes,"  he  was  saying,  "there  is  something 
9 


130  GIANNETTO. 

decidedly  odd  about  the  man  and  his  pretty  wife. 
A  friend  of  mine  told  me  that  at  Venice  very 
strange  things  were  said  about  him,  and  the  ex- 
traordinary power  and  unchanging  quality  of  bis 
voice.  For  instance,  once  he  came  to  the  opera, 
half  fainting  with  fatigue — as  white  as  a  sheet, 
and  trembling  as  if  with  palsy ;  but  when  he 
opened  his  mouth,  his  voice  was  as  grand  and 
clear  as  if  he  was  in  the  fullest  strength.  My 
friend  heard  afterwards  that  he  had  lost  his  only 
child  that  very  morning." 

"But,"  said  one  of  the  by-standers,  "a  very 
powerful  will  will  often  carry  one  through  on 
such  occasions." 

"True  ;  but  how  would  you  account  for  this — 
that  through  heat  and  cold,  draughts,  crowds,  all 
those  accidents  that  most  affect  a  singer's  voice, 
his  has  never  been  known  to  vary  ?  He  is  always 
singing,  never  gives  himself  any  rest.  No,  no, 
my  friends ;  it  is  very  unaccountable,  and  not  so 
easy  to  explain  as  you  seem  to  think  it." 

Here  the  little  singing-master  broke  in — "Ah, 
Signori!  is  he  not  a  wonder,  a  marvel?  After 
one  has  heard  him,  one  can  listen  to  no  more. 
Truly,  it  seems  to  me  that  his  singing  is  a  finale 
to  the  music  of  the  evening." 


GIANNETTO.  \o\ 

"Do  you  know  him?  Are  you  acquainted 
with  his  history?" 

"  I  know  him,  certainly ;  but  I  know  nothing 
of  his  history.  I  have  been  at  his  house  occa- 
sionally. He  is  good  and  charitable,  and  gives 
largely.  I  know  of  some  very  poor  families  in 
Venice  to  whom  he  has  been  very  kind ;  and  even 
to  others  who  are  apparently  in  better  circum- 
stances, but  who,  God  knows,  often  need  as  much, 
he  has  been  a  true  friend."  His  little  twinkling 
eyes  glistened  as  he  spoke. 

"And  his  wife,  who  is  she ?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said  Amy,  gently.  "  She 
is  the  daughter  of  a  very  respectable  Government 
official  at  Florence  ;  and  my  father  both  knew 
and  respected  the  family  much.  There  is  noth- 
ing at  all  mysterious  about  her,"  she  added, 
smiling. 

When  the  party  had  broken  up,  and  Amy  was 
alone  with  her  husband  in  the  carriage,  she  told 
him  how  anxious  she  was  not  to  lose  sight  of  Gi- 
ovanni and  Elvira,  for  she  felt  the  deepest  inter- 
est in  both,  but  especially  in  the  sad-looking 
young  wife.  But  days  passed  in  the  usual  whirl 
of  life  in  Rome,  and  they  never  chanced  to  meet. 


132  GIANNETTO. 

The  time  passed  in  sight-seeing  all  day,  going 
into  society  at  night,  and  occasionally  a  visit  to 
the  opera.  Giannetto  was  so  great  a  man  now 
that  he  could  afford  to  be  capricious ;  he  sang 
rather  irregularly — sometimes  disappointing  his 
audiences  by  refusing  to  do  so. 

The  Carnival  approached,  and  gayeties  in- 
creased ;  balls  and  parties  every  night,  the  usual 
fun  in  the  Corso,  the  throwing  of  confetti,  of  bou- 
quets, bonbons,  etc.,  from  balconies  and  windows 
— all  the  customary  noise  and  bustle,  which  Amy 
and  her  husband  were  still  young  enough  to  en- 
ter into  and  enjoy  most  thoroughly. 

Then  came  the  sudden  change — the  falling,  as 
it  were,  of  the  black  veil  of  Lent  over  the  merry 
streets.  No  one  who  has  not  seen  it  can  imagine 
the  transformation  of  Rome,  not  only  outer  but 
inner  Rome,  at  that  season ;  for  the  streets,  no 
longer  crowded  with  singing,  dancing  revelers, 
are  quiet  and  empty, — the  same  crowds  that 
lately  swarmed  in  them  kneel  in  the  churches, 
calm,  collected,  and  devout ;  some  hundreds  of 
them  have  passed  from  the  wildest  excitement 
to  the  deepest  prostration  of  spirit ;  all  are  alike 
sobered  and  absorbed  by  the  religious  duties  of 
the  season. 


GIANNETTO.  133 

The  weather  changed,  and  became  cold  and 
bleak ;  a  bitter  tramontane*,  swept  the  streets ; 
and  most  of  the  English  left  Rome  for  Naples, 
there  to  spend  the  weeks  between  the  beginning 
of  Lent  and  the  Easter  festivities. 

Giannetto  and  Elvira  remained  in  Eome.  He 
spent  most  of  his  days  wandering  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  often  not  coming  home  till  late,  for  his 
restlessness  kept  him  always  moving.  Her  life 
sank  into  a  gentle,  regular  monotony.  Like  most 
Italian  women,  Elvira  had  no  resources  in  her- 
self— she  neither  drew  nor  worked,  she  scarcely 
ever  read ;  but,  during  this  season,  she  passed 
almost  all  her  time  in  church.  There  she  seemed 
really  happy ;  and  her  neighbors  called  her  de- 
vote, a  saint.  Her  confessor,  Fra  Geronimo,  en- 
couraged her.  "Courage,  daughter,"  he  would 
say;  "pray — fast  and  pray.  Wrestle  as  I  wres- 
tle, and  the  soul  of  your  husband  will  be  given 
to  us." 

Under  a  stern  sense  of  duty,  Fra  Geronimo 
had  never  revealed  to  Elvira  what  he  knew  of 
her  husband's  history,  so  of  that  she  was  igno- 
rant still. 

Giannetto  seemed  instinctively  to  know  where 


134  GIANNETTO. 

and  how  she  passed  her  time,  for  he  never  asked. 
More  and  more  taciturn  and  sad  he  grew,  till  all 
the  sweet  smiles  with  which  she  greeted  him 
failed  to  elicit  one  in  return.  She  thought  that 
the  enforced  idleness  of  Lent  told  on  his  spirits, 
and  she  made  many  efforts  to  rouse  and  cheer 
him,  but  too  often  in  vain. 

One  day  he  came  in  looking  brighter  and  more 
lively  than  he  had  done  for  a  long  time.  He  was 
nourishing  a  letter  in  his  hand.  "Elvira,  what 
say  you  to  this?"  he  cried  ;  "the  offer  of  an  en- 
gagement in  London — from  Covent  Garden  !  The 
offer  is  a  magnificent  one.  Tell  me,  dear  one, 
should  you  not  like  the  change  ? — the  novelty  of 
it  all?  You  would  see  your  English  friends. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  England !  London  ! — ah  !  shall  we  really  go 
there?" 

"  Yes,  really ;  I  wait  but  your  consent  to  ac- 
cept. They  are  appreciative,  these  English — it 
will  be  a  pleasure  to  sing  to  them.  It  will  do 
you  good,  Elvira — the  cool  summer  will  bring 
the  color  into  my  dear  one's  pale  face." 

The  little  pale  face  was  now  flushed  with  pleas- 
ure at  the  unwonted  brightness  of  his  tone,  and 


GIANNETTO.  135 

she  looked  up  eagerly.  "All,  Nino  mine,  it  will 
do  us  both  good !     When  do  we  go  ?  " 

"Immediately  after  Easter,  when  London  is 
most  full.  More  fame  to  be  won  yet,  Elvira.  I 
climb  !  I  climb  !  and  before  long  it  shall  be  said 
that  I  am  the  greatest  singer  the  world  has  ever 
seen!"  His  face  flushed,  his  eyes  sparkled,  and 
he  drank  in  the  proud  conviction  that  the  crown 
of  his  ambition  was  coming,  an  unrivaled  and 
world-wide  fame. 

"  Ah !  truly  there  is  none  to  compare  with  my 
Nino,"  said  his  young  wife,  twining  her  arms 
around  him ;  "  and  there  is  nothing  like  the  gift 
of  song." 

That  evening  a  small  close  carriage  stopped 
before  the  "Fontana  di  Trevi."  There  is  a  well- 
known  and  cherished  superstition,  that  if  you 
drink  of  this  water  the  night  before  leaving  Eome 
it  insures  your  return. 

Out  of  the  carriage  stepped  Amy  and  her  hus- 
band, and  descended  the  steps  to  the  fountain- 
edge.  The  water  sparkled  and  danced  in  the 
moonlight ;  and  the  shadows  of  the  rock,  Tritons, 
and  great  sea-horses  were  so  disturbed  that  it 
seemed  almost  as  if  they  were  in  truth  plunging 


136  GIANNETTO. 

and  tumbling  in  the  clear  streams  which  dashed 
over  them. 

Giannetto  and  Elvira  passed  slowly  by  on  foot, 
enjoying  a  moonlight  walk. 

"See,  Elvira,  there  are  travelers  going  down 
to  drink  at  the  fountain  to  insure  a  return  to 
Eome ! " 

Elvira  let  go  his  arm.  "Look,  look,  Nino!" 
she  said;  "it  is  the  English  Signora  Aimee  and 
her  husband."     And  she  went  down  the  steps. 

"  Once,  twice,  three  times  for  good  luck ! "  ex- 
claimed Amy,  drinking  the  clear,  sweet  water. 

"It  is  all  nonsense,"  grumbled  her  husband — 
but  he  drank  nevertheless. 

"Signora,  Signora  Aimee,"  said  Elvira's  soft 
voice  ;  "  so  you  leave  Rome  ?  " 

Amy  turned  round  eagerly.  "I  am  so  glad  to 
have  seen  you  once  more.  Yes,  we  go  to- 
morrow." 

"I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  wish  you  a  good 
journey."  She  held  out  her  hand.  Amy  took  it, 
and  with  a  sudden  impulse  bent  down  and  kissed 
her. 

She  went  away  to  her  carriage,  and  Elvira 
stood  watching  till  they  were  out  of  sight. 


GIANNETTO.  137 

Giannetto  drew  lier  hand  under  Lis  arm. 
"  How  cold  you  are,  child !  come  home  at  once." 
He  stooped  and  drank  a  handful  of  the  water. 
"It  is  refreshing,"  he  said;  "but  do  not  let  us 
delay — these  Roman  nights  are  treacherous." 


CHAPTEK  X. 

ELVIRA  caught  a  very  severe  cold  that  night 
— so  severe  that  for  days  she  was  unable  to 
leave  her  bed.  Like  all  ailments  in  Rome,  it 
partook  of  the  nature  of  low  fever,  and  weakened 
her  greatly.  -  Easter  came  and  went ;  but  when 
the  day  drew  near  on  which  Giannetto's  London 
engagement  was  to  begin,  she  was  still  too  weak 
for  so  long  a  journey.  Giannetto,  therefore,  care- 
fully wrapping  her  up,  and  making  her  as  com- 
fortable as  possible,  took  her  to  Florence,  and 
left  her  under  the  loving  care  of  Signora  Mattei, 
while  he  continued  his  journey  by  himself. 

Elvira  was  received  by  her  mother  with  rap- 
turous joy  ;  the  brothers  and  sisters  danced  round 
her ;  her  old  father  would  scarcely  let  her  out  of 
his  sight.  All  this  cheered  and  comforted  her 
wonderfully.  There  was  also  the  excitement  of 
a  wedding  in  prospect.  Adelaide,  her  second 
sister,  a  pretty,  dark-eyed  girl  of  seventeen,  was 
to  be  married  to  her  fiance,  Gaetano  Yacchini. 


GIANNETTO.  139 

Elvira  did  not  recover  her  strength  as  they  had 
hoped  she  would.  She  was  unable  to  enter  into 
all  the  bustle  of  the  family  arrangements ;  but  it 
was  her  great  pleasure  to  furnish  Adelaide  with 
money,  and  send  her  out  shopping  with  her 
mother,  or  with  Violante  the  servant,  and  then  to 
witness  the  ecstasies  of  the  delighted  girl  when 
she  brought  home  and  exhibited  her  finery. 

"  See,  see,  Elvira !  this  lace,  how  beautiful !  and 
a  silk  gown  of  the  new  color !  Carola  Brei  wore 
one  like  it  at  their  house ;  and  she  said  to  me, 
'  Adelaide,  now  is  your  time  ;  do  not  be  married 
without  one.  Extravagant !  Ah,  bah !  if  one  is 
not  extravagant  when  one  is  married,  when  is  one 
to  be  so  ?  And  one  must  be  well  dressed  at  first.' 
Then  see !  this  shawl.  I  wept,  I  entreated  the 
mamma  ;  but  she  would  not  give  it  to  me.  She 
said  that  she  had  not  a  baiocco — that  it  was  flimsy 
trash ;  and  now,  thanks  to  you — "  and  Adelaide 
threw  her  arms  round  her  sister's  neck,  half 
smothering  her  with  kisses. 

The  wedding-day  came,  and  it  was  Elvira's  task 
to  dress  her  sister  in  the  pretty  white  bridal  dress 
her  own  taste  had  chosen.  She  could  not  keep 
her  tears  from  falling  fast  as  she  watched  the 


140  GIANNETTO. 

little  procession  start  from  the  door.  She  was 
riot  strong  enough  for  the  whole  ceremony,  so 
she  reserved  herself  for  the  last  part,  waiting  till 
the  little  procession  appeared  in  sight  on  their 
return  from  the  Mairie  in  the  Borgo  Ognissanti, 
and  then  joining  them  on  their  way  to  church. 
The  religious  ceremony  was  performed  at  their 
parish  church,  San  Marco. 

They  returned  home ;  and  then  followed  all  the 
packing  up  of  large  boxes  of  bonbons,  to  be  sent 
to  the  friends  and  relations  of  the  bride  and 
bridegroom,  so  that  there  was  no  time  for  sitting 
down  to  think ;  and  the  first  leisure  moment  had 
to  be  spent  in  writing  a  long  account  of  all  that 
had  passed  to  Giannetto  in  London. 

Elvira  was  now  always  on  the  sofa.  Every  day 
her  loving  friends  tried  to  believe  that  she  was 
better ;  every  night  found  her  more  weak  and 
restless ;  and  those  of  their  acquaintances  less 
interested  and  more  experienced,  perceived  too 
clearly  that  the  bright  flush  on  her  cheek  was  not 
the  hue  of  returning  health. 

The  day  after  the  wedding  brought  a  large 
packet  of  extracts  from  the  English  newspapers. 
Giannetto  had  found  among  the  chorus-singers  a 


GIANNETTO.  \\\ 

young  Italian  who  understood  English  pretty 
well.  He  was  very  poor,  and  thankful  to  be 
employed  in  making  rough  translations  from  all 
the  papers  of  the  reports  of  the  great  tenor's  suc- 
cesses at  Covent  Garden,  for  Elvira's  benefit. 
Her  pride  in  her  husband's  achievements  was 
much  increased  by  the  praises  thus  bestowed  on 
him. 

She  lay  on  the  sofa,  reading  them  aloud,  Sig- 
nora  Celeste,  with  hands  and  eyes  uplifted,  beside 
her ;  the  old  Cavaliere,  violin  in  hand,  resting  it 
on  the  ground,  and  softly  beating  time  with  the 
bow  ;  the  children  in  front ;  Yiolante,  her  sleeves 
tucked  up  above  her  elbows,  behind, — all  listen- 
ing as  she  read  how  Giannetto  had  been  recalled 
four  times  after  the  fall  of  the  curtain— how  each 
time  bouquets  had  been  "thrown  from  every  part 
of  the  house — and  how,  on  one  occasion,  he  had 
been  three  times  encored.  "No  voice,"  one  of 
the  papers  said,  "had  ever  been  heard  in  England 
at  all  approaching  the  voice  of  the  new  tenor  in 
power  or  beauty.  It  was  only  a  pity  that  he  was 
not  a  better  actor ;  there  was  a  want  of  grace  in 
the  lighter  scenes,  his  efforts  at  gayety  and  play- 
fulness appeared  forced  and  unnatural."     Elvira 


142  GIANNETTO. 

colored,  and  all  her  listeners  defiantly  declared 
that  newspaper  criticisms  were  never  to  be  relied 
on,  with  the  true  inconsistency  of  admiring  affec- 
tion. The  papers  went  on  to  notice  the  wonder- 
ful strength  of  Signor  Giovanni's  voice — how, 
after  singing  all  night  and  numerous  encores,  it 
was  as  fresh  as  ever ;  and  finally,  they  prophesied 
that,  if  the  slight  defects  in  his  acting  could  be 
got  over,  he  would  be  in  truth  the  very  first  of 
his  profession. 

Elvira  put  down  the  papers  with  a  proud  heart. 
She  kept  them  always  beside  her ;  for  whenever 
friends  and  visitors  came  in  (which  happened  very 
frequently),  Signora  Celeste  would  come  bustling 
up,  insisting  on  reading  the  whole  set  of  them 
again ;  for  she  dearly  loved  the  congratulations 
of  her  neighbors  on  her  now  famous  son-in-law's 
success,  and  was  never  tired  of  hearing  them  re- 
iterated. 

Giannetto  was  happy  in  London.  His  success 
was  complete.  He  found  himself  plunged  into 
all  the  gayeties  of  a  large  musical  and  artistic 
society,  of  which  he  speedily  became  an  habitue. 
He  enjoj-ed  the  perfection  which  music,  both  in- 
strumental and  vocal,  has  attained  in  England ; 


GIANNETTO.  ^43 

and,  more  than  all,  lie  enjoyed  finding  worthy 
support  in  his  fellow-singers.  The  "cast"  at 
Covent  Garden  was  a  fine  one,  the  orchestra  in 
first-rate  condition.  No  primo  tenore  could  have 
wished  for  a  better  introduction  to  a  new  audi- 
ence.    He  was  rich.    He  was  famous. 

Giannetto  would  scarcely  acknowledge  to  him- 
self that  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  be  away  from 
his  wife.  Not  that  he  did  not  love  her.  His  at- 
tachment to  her  was  passionate  as  his  Italian 
nature,  but  it  was  the  very  force  of  that  attach- 
ment which  gave  him  the  feeling  of  relief. .  He 
had  no  longer  to  combat  the  almost  ungovernable 
longing  to  tell  her  his  whole  life's  histoiy,  to 
break  down  the  barrier  which  his  want  of  confi- 
dence had  raised  between  them.  While  thus  ab- 
sent, he  was  no  longer  tormented  by  her  wistful 
looks.  When  his  abnegation  of  religion,  his  ab- 
solute alienation  from  God,  betrayed  itself,  those 
amongst  whom  he  now  lived  seemed  to  be  indif- 
ferent to  such  matters,  and  for  the  time  he  felt 
hiinself  free. 

Giannetto  studied  music  indefatigable.  He 
also  devoted  much  time  to  the  improvement  of 
his  general  education.     He  engaged  a  tutor,  and 


144  GIANNETTO. 

worked  hard,  endeavoring  to  raise  himself  to  the 
level  of  his  better-educated  companions.  Still, 
occasionally,  the  old  fits  of  restlessness  would  re- 
turn irresistibly  for  days  at  a  time,  during  which 
he  could  settle  to  no  definite  occupation. 

He  was  not  altogether  popular.  He  was  too 
capricious,  and  often  too  moody  to  please.  He 
made  a  point  of  never  permitting  companionship 
to  advance  beyond  a  certain  limit ;  so  that  many 
who,  attracted  by  his  singular  power  of  fascina- 
tion, imagined  themselves  on  the  road  to  intimacy 
and  confidence,  suddenly  found  then-  advances 
coldly  received,  and  themselves  treated  with 
something  not  unlike  repulsion.  At  the  same 
time,  he  had  few  enemies.  He  was  never  boast- 
ful or  bragging.  The  proud  feelings  of  gratified 
ambition  that  swelled  his  heart  were  for  himself 
alone.  Outwardly  he  appeared  too  haughty  to 
be  vain ;  and  he  treated  his  unprecedented  suc- 
cess as  so  much  a  matter  of  course,  that  the 
lookers-on  often  wondered  whether  this  arose 
from  the  most  sublime  affectation  or  simple  in- 
difference. 

The  days  passed  on ;  and  as  the  time  of  Gian- 
netto's  return  drew  near,  Elvira  became  restless 


GIANNETTO.  145 

and  anxious.  Her  strength  began  to  fail  rapidly 
under  a  burning  inward  fever  which  consumed 
her ;  and  by  degrees  a  strong  conviction  dawned 
upon  her  that  she  had  not  long  to  live. 

One  day  the  Cavaliere,  entering  the  music- 
room,  where  Elvira  usually  passed  her  mornings 
on  the  sofa,  found  her  weeping  over  a  letter  just 
received.  The  kind  old  man  hastily  drew  a  chair 
near  to  her,  and  sat  looking  at  her  wistfully 
through  his  large  spectacles. 

"  No  bad  news,  my  precious  child  ?  " 
Elvira  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  nothing,  nothing ; 
only  that  I  am  very  weak,  very  foolish.  Nino 
cannot  be  here  for  a  fortnight  more ;  he  has  ac- 
cepted an  engagement  which  will  keep  him  longer 
in  England.  All,  father,  dear  father !  I  feel  as  if 
there  were  no  time  to  lose.  I  must  see  him  be- 
fore I  die!" 

"Die  !  Elvira,  child,  do  not  speak  of  dying." 
"I  must  speak  of  it,  for  the  time  is  short ;  and 
I  must — Dio  mio  ! — I  must  see  him  before  I  die. 
Oh,  father  mine,  I  am  frightened  when  I  think 
that  I  may  not  see  him  again.  I  have  so  much 
to  say  to  him." 

The  old  Cavaliere  slowly  brushed  away  two 
10 


146  GIANNETTO. 

large  tears  before  he  answered— "  Alas,  my  child  ! 
I  fear  sometimes  that  your  life  has  not  been  a 
happy  one." 

"Happy  ?  Ah  yes !  happier  far  than  I  deserve 
— but  for  one  grief,  one  sorrow." 

"Felicita?" 

"No,  no  ;  that  grief  has  at  times  been  almost  a 
joy.  I  mean  that  Nino —  Alas  !  what  can  I  say  ? 
he  loves  not  God  nor  holy  things." 

"Poor  little  one!" 

"Ah,  father  mine,  I  have  never  spoken  of  this 
except  to  him  and  in  my  prayers ;  but  now — the 
relief,  the  comfort  of  telling  all  to  you !  You  say 
nothing ;  you  only  grieve  with  me.  It  is  that  I 
want.  Father,  what  is  this  mystery?  What 
does  it  all  mean  ?  Oh,  if  this  barrier  could  but 
be  broken  down  that  stands  between  us !  "Why 
will  he  not  go  to  his  old  home?  Alas!  what 
does  it  all  mean?" 

"My  child,"  began  the  Cavaliere,  "sometimes 
the  indifference  of  youth — " 

"It  is  not  indifference — indeed,  not  indiffer- 
ence. When  I  have  spoken  to  him,  I  have  seen 
the  look  of  grief,  the  shadow  of  some  great  un- 
spoken sorrow,  in  his  face.     He  seems  to  shrink 


GIANNETTO.  J47 

— to  be  afraid— Sometimes — I  dread  that — that 
some  great  crime.  .  .  .  My  God!  what  have  I 
said?" 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  shuddering 
violently. 

The  Cavaliere  laid  his  hand  on  her  head. 
"Do  not  fear,  my  child.  No  one  is  here  but  your 
old  father,  who  will  help  you  if  he  can." 

Elvira  raised  herself  again.  "Father,"  she 
said,  "I  cannot  understand  it.  When  I  speak  of 
his  mother,  he  assumes  a  harshness  foreign  to 
his  nature.  Then,  and  then  only,  he  has  been 
unkind  to  me.  Alas !  he  made  me  promise  never 
to  ask  him  to  go  home  again  ;  but  while  he  spoke 
so  harshly,  his  lips  were  quivering,  his  eyes 
looked  at  me  in  such  agony.  Ah  !•  what  can  it 
mean? — what  can  it  mean?" 

"My  precious  child ! " 

"Long  ago,  my  mother  had  an  idea  that  all  was 
not  right.  I  know  not  why,  but  she  thought  it 
was  something  to  do  with  his  voice — possibly  that 
he  might  have  become  a  singer  in  defiance  of  the 
wishes  of  his  mother  and  his  friends — who  knows  ? 
I  cannot  tell  why  she  thought  so.  She  tried  to 
learn  what  she  could  from  the  English  Conte. 


148  GIANNETTO. 

He  had  nothing  to  tell  her.  What  could  he  have 
had  to  say  ?  And,  alas !  the  fact  remains  the 
same.  And  he  may  die  impenitent,  unabsolved. 
Dio  mio  !  my  heart  will  break  !" 

"Elvira,  darling!" 

"  Oh,  father,  night  and  day  I  pray  that  I  may 
be  spared  to  see  him  once — only  once  again ! 
Through  the  long  hours  of  the  night,  when  I  lie 
awake,  I  am  planning  what  to  say  to  him,  what 
arguments  to  use,  what  points  to  urge  ;  and  I  am 
so  ignorant,,  it  all  ends  in  this,  '  Nino,  Nino !  if 
you  love  me — for  my  sake  ! ' " 

The  old  Cavaliere  only  kissed  her  forehead ; 
his  voice  was  choked — he  could  not  speak.  El- 
vira looked  up  at  him  with  her  large  sad  eyes. 
She  went  on — "Era  Geronimo  tells  me  that  if  I 
am  patient,  and  go  on  hoping  and  praying,  he 
will  at  last  be  won ;  but  time  goes  on,  and  he 
cannot  come  home  for  a  fortnight  longer,  and 
who  knows  whether  I  shall  live  so  long  ?  Father, 
give  me  this  promise — if  I  should  get  worse, 
send  an  express  for  him  at  once.  Let  me  feel 
that  I  can  rely  on  this.  Even  should  it  be  a  false 
alarm,  he  will  forgive  it ;  and  I  must  see  him  be- 
fore I  die." 


GIANNETTO.  149 

"  I  promise,  Elvira,  my  darling ;  let  me  write 
at  once.  Surely  it  is  better  that  lie  should  be 
with  you  now  ?  " 

"No ;  do  not  call  him  home  if  you  can  help  it. 
Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  the  very  longing  to  see  him 
again  will  serve  to  keep  me  alive  until  he  comes. 
Father,  dear  father,  if  I  fail  in  persuading  him, 
do  not  give  him  up ;  but,  for  my  sake,  look  on 
him  as  you  would  on  a  son  of  your  own."  She 
went  on,  almost  to  herself,  "Nino  loves  his 
mother,  I  am  sure  of  it ;  and  he  loves  that  good 
priest  who  wrote  to  me.  What  can  it  mean? 
Why  does  he  feign  anger  when  I  speak  of  them  ? 
Why  does  he  make  believe  that  he  does  not  love 
them  ?  It  cannot  be  as  my  mother  thought — they 
would  have  been  so  proud  of  his  singing ;  and  yet 
how  unwilling  he  is  to  speak  of  his  voice.  His 
life  before  we  first  met  is  a  perfect  blank  to  me." 

The  Cavaliere  resumed  gently,  "My  child,  are 
you  sure  that  you  are  not  imagining  all  kinds  of 
foolish  things  ?  Giovanni  is  young,  and  strong, 
and  thoughtless.  When  sorrow  comes,  or  illness, 
or  any  sad  experience,  he  will  turn  where  only 
comfort  can  be  found." 

"Father,  have  you  then  not  noticed  the  dread 


X50  GIANNETTO. 

he  has  of  sacred  things  ?  It  is  not  indifference. 
I  have  seen  him  stand  looking  through  the  door 
into  a  church,  with  a  look  of  longing  that  went  to 
rny  heart.  Then  if  I  begged  him  to  come  in,  he 
would  be  angry,  and  irritable  ;  but  I  could  see  his 
great  distress.  Once  he  said  to  me,  'You  do  not 
know  the  sacrifice  you  wish  me  to  make  ; '  and  I 
did  not  know — alas  !  I  sometimes  fear  that  I  shall 
never  know  what  he  meant." 

Though  exhausted  at  the  time,  Elvira  felt  much 
comfort  from  this  conversation  with  her  father. 
It  was  a  relief  to  have  spoken  of  her  sorrows ; 
and  his  silent  sympathy  was  more  to  her  than 
any  words  could  have  been. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

THE  season  came  to  an  end  in  London,  Par- 
liament adjourned,  and  the  fashionable  world 
dispersed  in  all  directions.  Giovanni's  last  ap- 
pearance at  Covent  Garden  was  over ;  and,  rich 
in  fame  and  purse,  he  prepared  to  return  home. 

But  yet  one  more  triumph  awaited  him.  He 
received  an  offer  from  Paris,  too  liberal  for  him 
to  refuse.  He  consented  to  sing  for  two  nights 
only,  on  condition  of  the  terms  being  doubled. 
The  arrogant  demand  was  immediately  acceded 
to,  and  Giovanni  went  over  to  Paris. 

His  success  was  complete.  He  was  borne  from 
the  concert-hall  on  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd. 
Wherever  he  went  they  flocked  to  see  him.  He 
received  presents  of  every  description,  bouquets 
and  jewels  ;  the  Conservatoire  crowned  him,  and 
bestowed  honorary  titles  <m  him. 


152  GIANNETTO. 

"I  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for,"  he  wrote  to 
Elvira.  "I  am  on  the  topmost  step  of  the  ladder. 
Rejoice  with  me  ;   I  have  nothing  more  to  win." 

He  returned  to  his  hotel  the  last  night  before 
leaving  Paris,  to  find  a  foreign  despatch  on  the 
table.  The  message  was  very  brief :  "Elvira  is 
frightfully  ill :  come  quickly,  if  you  would  see  her 
alive." 

Who  can  describe  the  misery  of  that  journey  ? 
Night  and  day  he  traveled,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  swift  express  trains  crawled  at  a  foot- 
pace. The  time  lost  in  crossing  Mont  Cenis 
seemed  interminable — double  and  treble  relays 
of  horses  and  mules  were  sent  on,  but  the  time 
seemed  endless. 

He  reached  Elorence  at  last.  There,  waiting 
for  him  at  the  station,  stood  the  old  Cavaliere. 
"She  is  better ! "  he  shouted,  before  the  train  had 
time  to  stop.  "She  is  already  better,  thanks  be 
to  God!" 

Before  many  moments  had  passed,  Giannetto 
stood  by  the  bedside  of  his  wife. 

Though  the  summer  was  at  its  height,  the 
warm  weather  had  not  restored  Elvira's  strength. 
Her  family,  always  beside  her,  did  not  perceive 


GIANNETTO.  153 

how  thin  she  grew ;  and  they  became  so  much 
accustomed  to  the  little  short  cough,  which  had 
never  left  her  since  her  illness  at  Rome,  that  at 
last  they  scarcely  noticed  it  at  all. 

The  lovely  color  that  now  so  frequently  suc- 
ceeded her  paleness,  foreshadowed,  alas!  too 
truly,  the  dreaded  malattia  Inglese — the  consump- 
tion that  is  so  little  known,  but  so  greatly  feared, 
in  Italy.  She  had  not  appeared  more  failing  or 
ill  than  usual,  when  one  day  she  was  seized  with 
a  very  violent  fit  of  coughing,  attended  with  much 
pain.  Fearful  that  she  had  caught  fresh  cold, 
they  sent  for  the  doctor,  who  pronounced  her  to 
be  suffering  from  acute  inflammation  of  the  lungs. 
"She  cannot  live,"  said  the  doctor;  "the  disease 
gains  ground.  It  may  be  days  or  weeks,  possibly 
months  ;  but  I  can  do  nothing." 

Two  days  afterwards  she  broke  a  blood-vessel ; 
and  the  clanger  seemed  so  imminent  that  they  at 
once  telegraphed  for  Giannetto.  Before  his  ar- 
rival, however,  the  first  anxiety  had  passed  away  ; 
and,  although  much  weakened,  she  was  pro- 
nounced out  of  immediate  danger. 

Giannetto  proved  a  most  tender  and  efficient 
nurse;    but  he  absolutely  refused  to  believe  in 


154  GIANNETTO. 

her  clanger,  and  was  almost  rude  to  the  doctor 
when  he  spoke  despondingly  of  his  patient's  state. 
He  was  always  insisting  that  she  was  better,  get- 
ting well. 

Everything  that  money  could  procure  of  the 
rarest  and  most  costly  nature  he  obtained  for  El- 
vira ;  soft  eider-down  from  Germany,  rich  Indian 
shawls,  luxurious  English  sofas  and  invalid  chairs. 
He  liked  her  to  wear  costly  lace,  and  put  beauti- 
ful rings  that  he  had  purchased  for  her  in  Lon- 
don and  Paris  on  her  little  thin  fingers. 

"My  Elvira  is  a  great  and  rich  lady,"  he  said 
to  her ;  "and  when  she  is  well  again,  we  will  buy 
a  beautiful  villa  at  Elorence,  and  become  grand 
Signori." 

She  would  sometimes  hold  out  her  fingers  and 
watch  the  rings  drop  off  one  by  one.  "Look, 
Nino  mine,"  she  said ;  "like  these,  the  pleasures 
and  riches  of  this  world  are  dropping  from  me ! " 
He  could  not  be  angry  with  her  now  when  she 
said  these  things. 

Fra  Geronimo  was  living  at  his  Franciscan 
home  at  Fiesole  when  the  news  reached  him  of 
Giannetto's  return  to  Florence.  He  waited  some 
days,  and  then  determined  that  he  would  seek 


GIANNETTO.  155 

liiru  out.  Two  or  three  times  lie  called  at  the 
Casa  Mattei,  and  each  time  Giannetto  was  de- 
nied to  him.  Once  Elvira  sent  for  him,  and  beg- 
ged him  to  see  her  husband  ;  and,  if  necessary, 
to  force  him  into  an  interview. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "I  feel  that  every  day  that 
passes  now  is  an  opportunity  lost.  See  him,  and 
tell  him  that  I  am  dying,  that  before  many  weeks 
he  will  be  alone  ;  and  tell  him  that  I  cannot  die 
till  his  soul  is  safe,  till  he  returns  to  the  God 
whom  he  has  forsaken.  Father,"  she  added  sud- 
denly, the  hectic  hue  flushing  into  her  face,  "it 
is  not  that  he  does  not  believe  ;  he  believes — he 
suffers — I  know  it." 

"He  believes  and  suffers,"  repeated  the  friar. 
"My  daughter,  I  have  prayed  long  for  him.  I 
have  striven  against  the  power  of  the  enemy ; 
and  by  God's  grace  I  shall  prevail,  and  his  soul 
shall  be  saved!" 

That  night,  when  all  were  at  rest,  Fra  Gero- 
nimo  slowly  and  patiently  paced  the  Borgo  Pinti. 
He  knew  that  this  was  the  hour  in  which  Gian- 
netto allowed  himself  exercise  and  relaxation 
from  the  constant  attendance  on  his  wife ;  and 
he  awaited  his  return  homeward. 


156  GIANNETTO. 

The  night  was  calm  and  still,  the  silence  only 
now  and  then  broken  by  the  irregular  clang  of 
different  church-bells,  telling  the  quarters  of  each 
passing  hour.  The  shadow  of  the  tall  friar 
looked  almost  gigantic  as  it  fell  before  him  ;  and 
Giannetto  started  back  when  he  saw  it,  as  he 
came  up  the  street,  and  the  song  he  had  been 
softly  singing  died  away  unfinished  on  his  lips. 

"Giannetto,"  said  the  friar — and  Giannetto 
started  again  at  the  sound  of  his  old,  once  famil- 
iar name — "I  have  sought  you  day  after  day, 
and  the  doors  are  closed  against  me.  I  must 
speak  with  you,  Giannetto." 

"  Would  that  you  would  leave  me  to  myself," 
said  Giannetto,  angrily;  "I  need  no  meddling 
monk  to  pry  into  my  affairs." 

The  friar  laid  his  hand  powerfully  upon  his 
arm.  "I  know  your  secret,"  he  said.  "You 
have  nothing  to  tell  me  that  I  do  not  know." 

Giannetto  shuddered.  "Then  I  need  tell  you 
nothing,  Father.     Leave  me  in  peace." 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  the  house.  Al- 
most as  if  the  hand  of  the  friar  acted  on  him  as 
a  spell,  Giannetto  opened  it;  and  they  passed 
side  by  side  into   a  large  room  on  the  ground- 


GIANNETTO.  157 

floor.  It  was  not  dark,  for  the  moon  streamed 
in,  and  her  ghostly,  colorless  light  filled  the 
room. 

Giannetto  flung  himself  down  on  a  chair,  his 
face  turned  sullenly  away.  Era  Geronimo  slowly 
paced  the  room,  his  eyes  bent  on  the  ground. 

"Giannetto,"  he  said — and  the  low  hollow  tone 
spoke  of  mental  and  physical  suffering — "  I  must 
have  you  listen,  and  forgive  me  if  I  speak  too 
much  of  myself.  I  was  once  young,  and  strong, 
and  brilliant,  as  you  are  now.  My  life  began  in 
courts.  I  was  rich,  I  was  prosperous,  and 
beloved.  Giannetto,  I  also  was  a  scoffer.  To 
me,  God  was  a  mockery ;  religion  the  foolery  of 
priests  and  women.  My  life  was  all  enjoyment. 
I  cared  for  nothing,  thought  of  nothing,  but  the 
pleasures  of  the  hour.  I  watched  my  mother's 
heart  break  slowly  ;  for,  Giannetto,  she  loved  me 
— I  was  her  idol,  and  I  spurned  her  God.  She 
had  another  son."  The  friar's  voice  grew  lower 
and  more  husky  as  he  spoke  on. 

"This  son  was  young,  and  fresh,  and  innocent. 
On  her  deathbed  she  charged  me  to  guard  and 
watch  over  him  for  her  sake.  O  God  !  O  God ! 
I  swore  to  do  so.     I  broke  the  oath.     I  was  wild, 


158  GIANNETTO. 

dissolute,  and  recked  not  what  I  did.  Into  the 
dark  regions  of  sin  and  hell  I  led  hhn.  I  sur- 
rounded him  with  temptation.  I  laughed  to  see 
him  yield ;  and  thus  I  led  him  on,  from  bad  to 
worse,  till  the  measure  of  his  iniquity  was  full, 
and  there  was  no  time  for  atonement.  Gian- 
netto,  he  died  cursing  God  and  man ;  and  I 
knew  that  I — I — his  brother,  his  sworn  guardian 
— had  driven  him  to  damnation ! " 

He  paused  in  his  walk  to  and  fro,  and  clasping 
his  hands,  he  stood  before  Giannetto,  who  had 
bowed  his  head  on  the  table. 

"  I  tell  you,  that  since  that  hour  I  have  known 
no  peace.  I  tore  myself  from  home, — it  was  a 
time  of  madness  and  despair.  I  sought  oblivion 
in  vain ;  the  wild  ey es  of  my  dying  brother 
haunted  me  night  and  day,  and  the  awful  blas- 
phemy of  his  words,  as  the  foam  of  death  was 
gathering  on  his  lips — good  God !  they  haunt  me 
now.  Then  came  a  time  of  illness,  and  all  said 
that  I  must  die ;  but  life  was  strong  within  me, 
and  there  was  work  for  me  to  do.  I  lived — a 
blighted,  suffering  man — for  God  had  work  for 
me  to  do. 

"  There  was  a  priest,  an  old  man,  who  came  to 


GIANNETTO.  159 

tend  me.  God  lias  rewarded  hini  for  what  he  did 
for  me.  He  gave  me  hope ;  he  bade  me  spend 
my  life  in  bringing  souls  to  God.  'Atone,'  he 
said  ;  '  bring  back  the  fallen  ones  to  Christ ;  and 
so,  by  saving  many  souls,  atone  for  destroying 
one.' 

"I  went  forth  to  the  combat,  armed  by  St. 
Francis  with  Humility,  Fasting,  and  Poverty  :  and 
the  years  go  on,  but  the  atonement  is  yet  unac- 
complished. I  pray,  I  fast ;  but  there  is  one  soul 
I  cannot  win,  there  is  one  sinner  I  cannot  save. 
Giannetto,  have  pity  on  me — have  pity  on  your- 
self!" 

He  stood  before  him,  tall  and  powerful ;  and 
the  pale  moon  lit  up  his  figure,  leaving  Giannetto 
shrunken,  shivering  in  the  shade.  The  monk's 
voice  changed  to  a  softer,  gentler  strain : 

"  Nino,  my  son,  there  is  not  much  time  remain- 
ing. The  light  of  another  world  begins  to  beam 
on  the  brow  of  your  angel- wife — she  is  dying ! 
You  strive  not  to  believe  it ;  but,  Nino,  it  is 
true.  Not  many  weeks  are  left  you  of  her  love — 
the  time  flies  fast, — repent  while  yet  she  lives, 
and  let  her  die  in  peace!  Tell  her  all.  You 
have  much  to  renounce — fame,  riches,  happiness 


1(30  GIANNETTO. 

— but  you  have  all  to  gain.  I  charge  you,  if  you 
love  her,  to  repent !  "  Another  pause.  The  friar 
sank  on  his  knees. 

"  Once  more,  Giannetto,  I  beseech  you  to 
repent !  Suffering !  what  is  present  suffering 
compared  to  the  peace  which  passes  all  under 
standing?  What  is  daily,  hourly  suffering  com- 
pared to  the  agony  of  unrepentant  remorse — re- 
morse that  will  stand  beside  you  night  and  day, 
Avill  infuse  a  bitter  gall  into  every  pleasure,  will 
sharpen  every  pain,  and  will  linger  on  in  the  very 
memory  of  your  young  dead  wife?  Have  pity 
on  Elvira — have  pity  on  yourself  ! " 

Still  Giannetto  lay  with  his  arms  stretched  out 
before  him,  and  his  head  hidden.  He  writhed  as 
the  friar  spoke,  but  he  answered  nothing. 

Once  more  the  friar  rose  to  his  full  height,  gaz- 
ing down  on  the  prostrate  figure — "  Giannetto, 
one  more  appeal !  "Who  are  you,  what  are  you, 
that  you  should  brave  the  wrath  of  God  ?  The 
worm  crushed  under  the  foot  of  man  is  not  more 
impotent  or  contemptible.  There,  as  you  stand, 
the  strength  of  manhood  pours  through  your 
veins,  your  intellect  tells  you  that  in  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil  man  is  as  a  god,  and  yet,  in  the 


GIANNETTO.  \§\ 

pride  of  your  being,  you  cannot  understand  what 
it  is  to  die.  Now  is  your  hour,  you  say  ;  but  the 
hour  passes  away,  and  you  are  not.  You  believe 
— I  know  it ;  it  is  not  that  you  cannot  believe. 
It  is  that  openly  and  avowedly  you  say,  '  Let  me 
eat  and  drink,  for  to-morrow  I  die  ! '  And  thus 
you  would  make  the  "Word  of  God  of  none  effect ; 
and  such  will  be  the  end — you  will  eat  and  drink, 
and  to-morrow  you  die — unless — My  son,  my 
son !  eighteen  hundred  years  ago  an  Atonement 
was  made  for  man,  in  suffering,  in  agony,  in 
shame  !  Your  Saviour  pitied  you  ;  have  pity  on 
yourself ! " 

Giannetto  raised  his  head— the  agony  of  the 
struggle  was  visible  in  his  haggard  face,  but  the 
conquest  was  achieved.  "  Father,  Father,  I  yield ! 
Teach  me  to  repent ! " 

Long  hours  through  that  night  Giannetto  and 
the  Franciscan  remained  together.  Giannetto 
made  a  full  and  free  confession.  No  ear  heard 
or  eye  saw  what  passed  between  them ;  but  the 
dawn  had  already  gleamed  in  the  sky  before  they 
separated, — Giannetto,  worn  out,  to  throw  himself 
on  his  bed;  the  friar  to  go  on  with  his  work, 
fasting  and  in  prayer,  before  the  mercy-seat  of 
God. 


1G2  GIANNETTO. 

The  following  day  was  Sunday,  and  Elvira  rose 
from  her  bed  about  the  middle  of  the  day ;  but 
Giannetto  did  not  come  as  usual  to  carry  her 
into  the  music-room,  and  watch  and  tend  her. 
Her  father  brought  her  in  before  going  to  mass, 
and  they  left  her  alone,  anxious  and  watching  for 
her  husband's  coming. 

After  they  were  all  gone,  Giannetto  came 
quietly  in  and  stood  by  her  side.  She  raised  her 
eyes  to  his  face,  and  saw  that  it  was  very  pale ; 
but  there  was  a  look  in  his  eyes,  as  he  knelt  down 
beside  her,  that  gave  her  heart  such  a  strange 
bound  of  hope,  that  for  one  moment  she  was 
speechless. 

He  knelt  on  silently  by  the  couch,  where  she 
lay  pure  as  a  lily  and  almost  as  white,  his  eyes 
eagerly  watching  every  movement  of  her  sweet 
face. 

"Nino,"  she  said  at  length,  "I  had  a  dream 
last  night — such  a  strange  dream  !  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  lay  here  as  usual,  and  yet  the  room  was 
not  the  same.  A  window  was  before  me,  the  lat- 
tice set  wide  open  ;  and  a  glorious  stream  of  yel- 
low light  was  flooding  in, — and  there,  in  the  light, 
which  shone  like  a  golden  glory,  knelt  our  little 


GIANNETTO.  163 

child.  Her  hands  were  clasped  in  prayer,  and 
she  was  dressed,  like  the  holy  Innocents,  in 
purest  white  ;  and  all  around  her,  shadowy,  till 
they  seemed  but  wings  of  pearl,  hovered  the 
pigeons  of  St.  Mark.  The  child  was  praying, 
and  at  times  she  appeared  to  pause  and  listen 
intently.  Sadness,  then  anxiety,  then  sorrow, 
seemed  to  follow  each  other  in  shades  across  her 
face  as  she  listened — then  all  changed  into  one 
brilliant,  radiant  smile;  her  little  hands  were 
uplifted,  her  robe  seemed  to  become  a  robe  of 
glory,  and  a  soft  cloud  hid  her  from  my  sight. 
There  was  a  sound  of  sweet  singing  in  the  air, 
and  I  thought  I  heard  the  words,  '  Alleluia  !  Alle- 
luia !  a  triumph  has  been  won ! '  Then  all  passed 
away,  till  I  felt  something  soft  and  warm  in  my 
arms,  nestling  to  me,  and  a  little  voice,  which 
said,  'Mother,  mother,  I  have  finished  the  work 
that  was  given  me  to  do,' — and  I  awoke.  It  was 
only  the  first  peep  of  dawn,  but  already  some  one 
was  leaving  the  house,  for  I  heard  steps  going 
down  the  street.  Oh,  Nino !  my  arms  feel  so 
empty,  my  heart  so  hungry !  Nino,  Nino !  she 
never  learned  to  call  me  mother ! "  She  hid  her 
face,  struggling  with  her  tears. 


164  GIANNETTO. 

Giannetto  held  her  closely  in  his  arms ;  then 
taking  her  small  thin  hands  in  his,  he  drew  them 
on  to  his  bowed  head,  as  he  murmured  rather 
than  spoke — "Elvira,  pray  for  me,  that  God  will 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner." 

Elvira  started  up,  her  face  beaming  with  a  per- 
fect joy — "  Oh,  my  Nino,  is  it  true  ?  Has  God 
granted  me  this  precious  gift  ?  Now  at  last  I  can 
die  in  peace." 

"  Not  die,  my  darling ;  oh,  not  die !  Live,  to 
help  me  to  atone  for  the  bitter  past ! " 

"Ah,  Nino!  we  will  go  home  together,  and 
kneel  at  your  mother's  knees,  and  she  will  bless 
us  both,  and  all  will  thenceforth  be  peace."  Then 
suddenly  she  added,  "  Let  us  go  at  once,  Nino. 
Do  not  put  it  off  one  single  day.  The  poor 
mother,  she  has  watched  and  pined  so  long !  Ah, 
how  happy  I  am  now !  " 

"Elvira,"  said  Giannetto,  clasping  her  hands, 
"it  shall  be  as  you  say ;  but — but  then  you  must 
learn  my  secret," — and  he  shuddered  violently. 
"Can  you  bear  it?" 

"Nino,"  she  said,  gently,  "there  are  no  secrets 
in  the  grave."  She  lay  back,  breathless  and 
exhausted. 


GIANNETTO.  165 

Nino  went  on,  speaking  very  gently — "Elvira 
mine,  Fra  Geronimo  must  go  with  us ;  lie  would 
wish  to  be  with  you — " 

"At  the  last,"  she  finished;  for  he  had  bowed 
his  head  in  grief  too  deep  for  tears. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  long  and  painful  journey  was  over,  and 
at  last  Elvira  lay  in  her  husband's  early 
home.  It  had  been  a  very  difficult  one  :  many 
times  they  had  stopped  on  the  way,  terrified  at 
the  deadly  weakness  which  crept  over  her,  and  it 
was  always  her  own  wish  that  hurried  them  on. 

"Let  us  hasten,  Nino,"  she  would  say — "let  us 
hasten  on ;  the  time  grows  very  short."  The 
last  two  hours  she  had  to  be  carried  in  a  litter 
on  men's  shoulders,  for  the  paths  to  San  Jacopo 
were  too  rough  and  narrow  for  any  other  mode 
of  conveyance. 

Every  comfort  and  luxury  that  she  could  think 
of  had  been  sent  on  by  Signora  Celeste.  She 
herself  accompanied  them  part  of  the  way,  and 
then  returned  to  Florence,  by  Elvira's  special 
wish.  Elvira  had  a  sort  of  feeling  that,  in  giving 
herself  entirely  to  Carola's  care,  she  should  in 
some  measure  make  up  for  Giannetto's  long 
neglect. 


GIANNETTO.  167 

Carola  spent  her  days  of  expectation  wander- 
ing through  the  house,  arranging  and  rearranging, 
over  and  over  again,  the  bed,  sofa,  and  soft 
chairs  which  had  arrived  from  Florence.  Her 
joy  in  receiving  again  her  long-lost  son  was  very 
great.  She  greeted  him  with  the  brightest,  hap- 
piest of  looks,  and  refrained  from  one  word  of 
reproach  ;  but  the  sight  of  her  worn  and  altered 
face  grieved  him  more  than  any  words  she  could 
have  uttered. 

The  Curato  was  much  changed  ;  he  was  failing 
fast,  and  very  infirm.  He  was  glad  to  welcome 
Giannetto  back ;  but  there  was  a  certain  stern- 
ness even  in  his  welcome  which  Giannetto  per- 
ceived at  once.  The  good  priest  was  far  too 
just-minded  and  honest-hearted  not  to  show  by 
his  manner  that  he  greatly  blamed  his  old  pupil 
for  his  long  and  cruel  absence. 

By  his  old  companions  and  fellow-fishermen 
Giannetto  was  received  with  a  good  deal  of  awe 
and  wonder,  but  little  cordiality.  All  perceived 
at  a  glance  the  great  disparity  that  had  been  es- 
tablished between  them,  in  manner,  dress,  and 
appearance,  as  much  as  in  wealth  and  station. 
It  was  a  relief  now  and  then  to  poor  Carola  to  go 


Igg  GIANNETTO. 

out  and  have  a  comfortable  chat  with  one  or 
other  of  her  friends ;  for  the  refinement  that 
filled  her  own  house  bewildered  her.  "  I  feel  as 
if  he  were  not  my  own  son,"  she  would  say, 
rather  piteously.  "  He  is  such  a  grand  Signore, 
it  would  become  me  rather  to  courtesy  to  him,  and 
wait  upon  him,  than  he  should  do  everything  for 
me,  as  he  does  now ;  and  my  daughter-in-law — 
alas  !  it  is  sad  to  see  how  she  fades  away  !  Truly, 
she  is  already  an  angel ! "  and  the  good  woman 
brushed  away  a  tear. 

Fra  Geronimo  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  the 
house  of  young  Andrea.  On  Sunday  he  preached 
to  the  fisher-congregation,  and  at  other  times 
visited  the  sick  and  poor,  and  spent  his  time  with 
the  good  Curato. 

It  was  evening.  All  was  profoundly  calm  and 
still.  The  little  waves  came  softly  in,  kissing  the 
pebbles  on  the  beach  ;  the  fisher-boats  dotted  the 
almost  unbroken  surface  of  the  blue  wide  sea; 
and  now  arid  then  a  sea-gull,  gleaming  white  as 
snow,  dipped  his  long  wings  in  the  water,  utter- 
ing his  strange  wild  cry,  and  shaking  off  the 
drops,  all  shining,  from  his  plumage. 

Elvira  lay,  propped  up  by  cushions,  close  to 


GIANNETTO.  169 

the  window  of  her  room,  which  looked  towards 
the  sea.  It  was  set  wide  open,  so  that  she  might 
catch  the  faintest  breath  of  air.  Carola  was  be- 
side her  ;  Giannetto  knelt  in  his  customary  atti- 
tude ;  Fra  Geronimo  sat  like  a  statue,  dark  and 
motionless,  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  Carola  was 
telling  Elvira,  in  broken  words,  the  early  history 
of  her  son. 

"It  is  now,"  she  said,  "some  thirty  years  since 
our  Giannetto  was  born,  and  before  one  year  had 
passed,  his  father  died.  It  was  a  bitter  trial  to 
me,  as  you  may  well  conceive,  when  years  passed 
on,  and  my  boy,  my  one  comfort  and  hope,  con- 
tinued speechless.  We  tried  to  think  that  it 
was  only  slow  development — that  the  power  of 
speech  would  come  ;  but,  alas  !  more  and  more  it 
grew  upon  us  as  a  fact,  that  my  child  was  dumb 
— dumb  from  his  birth.  Giannetto,  give  her 
wine.  This  hot  weather  makes  her  faint,  poor 
child!" 

Giannetto  gave  her  wine,  which  she  swallowed 
eagerly.  "Go  on,  go  on,"  she  said;  and  Carola 
proceeded : 

"  Giannetto  was  a  good  and  loving  child.  For 
a  long  time  it  seemed  as  if  his  sad  misfortune 


170  GIANNETTO. 

would  not  affect  his  happiness ;  but  as  he  grew 
older,  alas  !  they  took  to  mocking  him — boys 
and  men  would  laugh  at  his  infirmity,  and  make 
him  furious.  His  father  before  him  was  a  pas- 
sionate man,  but  not  so  passionate  as  our  Gian- 
netto.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  goodness  of  our 
Curato,  I  know  not  what  I  could  have  done.  He 
took  him  somewhat  off  mj  hands,  gave  him  an 
education,  loved  him,  cared  for  him,  and,  as  I 
thought,  was  curing  him  of  all  his  wild,  vain 
longings.  "Elvira,  my  sweet  daughter,  he  was 
such  a  beautiful  and  clever  boy !  None  in  all  the 
country  round  were  like  him — so  strong,  so 
active!  Perhaps  some  of  the  taunting  arose 
from  jealousy ;  for  no  one,  in  work  or  sport,  did 
half  so  well  as  he  :  and  yet  they  seized  upon  his 
one  defect,  and  never  gave  him  peace. 

"So  it  went  on.  As  my  boy  grew  older,  he 
grew  more  sad;  and  yet  I  know  not  why.  I 
thought  he  was  becoming  more  resigned.  Perhaps 
it  was  that  I  had  prayed  so  long — that  I  had 
learned  to  think  I  saw  my  prayer's  accomplish- 
ment. 

"  So  it  was — such  was  his  state — when  an  En- 
glish Conte  came  to  San  Jacopo  ;  but,  Elvira,  you 
have  heard  all  this  before  ?  " 


GIANNETTO.  171 

Elvira  shook  her  head.  "Go  on,  go  on,"  she 
repeated. 

"  He  was  a  good  and  kind-hearted  man,  this 
Signor  Conte,  and  he  took  much  interest  in  mj 
boy.  I  had  saved  up  a  little  sum,  but  very  little, 
for  then  we  were  very  poor ;  and  the  Curato  also 
had  a  few  lire,  but  so  few — for,  just  before,  the 
little  he  had  saved  had  all  to  be  given  away  to  a 
poor  widow  who  was  ill.  This  money  we  had 
meant  to  lay  up,  and  add  to,  till  there  should  be 
enough  to  send  Giannetto  to  some  great  doctor 
who  perhaps  might  cure  him ;  but  when  the 
Signor  Conte  heard  our  story,  he  proposed  to 
take  Giannetto  with  him  to  Nice,  to  let  him  see 
the  doctors  there. 

"  Ah !  who  can  tell  our  gratitude  ?  It  seemed 
a  gift  sent  straight  from  heaven.  I  wearied  Ma- 
donna and  San  Jacopo  with  thanks.  He  was 
gone  three  days,  and  on  the  fourth  came  back." 

Elvira  started  forward — "Cured?  You  say  he 
was  cured  ?  " 

"Alas!  no,"  replied  Carola.  "He  came  home 
driven  to  despair ;  for  they  had  told  him  plainly, 
had  said  that  his  infirmity  was  quite  incurable — 
that  none  ever  recovered  who  were  born  dumb." 


172  GIANNETTO. 

Elvira  sank  back.  Again  they  gave  her  wine. 
She  looked  faint  and  exhausted,  but  murmured 
still,  "  go  on." 

"Alas!  I  come  to  the  mystery  of  my  story. 
He  was  half  mad  and  in  despair.  Every  day  I 
saw  how  the  fire  was  burning  within.  He  grew 
reckless ;  he  cared  not  what  he  did.  But  surely, 
surely  you  have  heard  all  this  before  ? 

"There  was  a  storm,  so  wild,  so  terrible,  it 
seemed  a  marvel  that  anything  alive  escaped ; 
and  all  night  long  my  boy  was  out  at  sea.  The 
great  waves  came  roaring  in ;  the  thunder 
crashed  and  rolled.  Santa  Maria  !  as  we  stood 
on  the  beach  we  thought  the  Last  Day  had 
come  !  With  the  first  early  streak  of  dawn  I 
heard  a  strange  sound  from  the  sea.  Elvira,  you 
know  it  well.  It  was  Giannetto  singing.  Over 
the  storm  it  rose ;  it  made  me  shrink  with  terror. 
For  the  first  time  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  son : 
his  life  was  saved  and  his  dumbness  cured." 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  one  mo- 
ment, then  looked  up,  the  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes.  "But,  alas!  from  that  time  forward 
he  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  a  church — he 
never  confessed — he  spurned  all  holy  things — he 
was,  we  feared,  forsaken  by  his  God ! " 


GIANNETTO.  I73 

From  the  darkening  corner  where  he  sat,  Ger- 
onimo  drew  near.  He  spoke  low,  and  with 
authority.  "Giannetto,  the  time  has  come;  tell 
all." 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  growing  deeper, 
and  Elvira  lay  pale  and  motionless. 

"Elvira,  you  shall  know  all."  Giannetto's 
voice  was  so  harsh  and  husky,  that  they  scarcely 
recognized  its  sound.  "You,  who  have  never 
known  such  things,  how  can  you  understand 
what  it  was  to  me  when  my  hopes  were  dashed 
to  the  ground  ?  How  can  you  know  ?  You  were 
never  shut  out  and  isolated  from  your  fellow-men 
— despised,  scorned,  and  mocked — an  outcast  from 
them  all.  From  a  child,  the  rebellion  in  my 
heart  had  been  growing  stronger.  Why  was  I 
born  ?  "What  had  I  done  to  be  so  miserable  ? 
One  thing  that  always  maddened  me  was  the 
sound  of  music.  I  loved  it  with  a  passionate 
love ;  and,  alas !  it  was  the  sound  of  the  human 
voice  that  was  my  passion. 

"The  Curato  once  gave  me  a  violin.  I  had  it 
for  some  days  ;  then  I  told  him  I  had  lost  it.  It 
was  not  true — I  had  broken  it  into  a  thousand 
pieces;  for  I  could  only  produce  sounds  which 


174 


GIANNETTO. 


roused  up  all  my  passionate  longings,  and  made 
me  more  embittered  than  ever.  He  used  to  talk 
to  me  of  resignation — it  seemed  such  a  mockery ! 
Why  should  I  be  resigned?  Why  was  I— I  only 
— to  be  singled  out  for  laughter  and  for  shame  ? 
What  had  God  done  for  me  that  I  should  be 
resigned  ? 

"Elvira,  at  this  time  that  my  mother  tells  you 
of,  these  wild  and  wicked  thoughts  were  strong- 
est. It  was. but  shortly  before  that  the  cruel 
blow  had  fallen,  when  they  had  told  me  I  had  no 
hope ;  and  I  was  desperate. 

"  I  was  out  alone  that  awful  night,  far  out  at  sea, 
when  the  storm  came  on.  I  was  mad.  I  longed 
to  die.  I  saw  Death  close  to  me,  staring  me  in  the 
face ;  and  in  my  frenzy  I  said  in  my  heart,  '  Let 
me  curse  God  and  die  ! '  The  waves  came  leap- 
ing round  me  ;  the  lightning  seemed  to  rend  open 
all  the  depths  of  the  heavens.  It  came  on  me, 
fiercely  and  more  fierce,  that  mad  thought,  never 
to  go  home,  but  out  there— alone— to  curse  my 
God  and  die.  I  was  on  my  knees,  and  in  my 
agony  I  cried,  'What  is  life  to  me  ?  Only  grant 
me  the  power  of  speech,  and  I  care  not  for  death 
or  hell !     Speech !  speech !  and  I  care  not  for  my 


GIANNETTO.  175 

soul ! '  Elvira,  I  know  not  how,  but  either  from 
heaven  or  hell  that  awful  cry  was  answered.  I 
heard  the  first  sound  of  my  own  voice,  and  I 
sank  down  cowering  in  the  boat,  in  a  terror  too 
great  for  utterance.  I  thought  I  had  sold  my 
soul !  Elvira,  Elvira,  hear  me  still !  He  says" — 
(catching  the  monk's  robe,  he  held  it  convulsively) 
— "  he  says  it  may  have  come  from  God.  That 
in  that  form  it  may  have  been  sent  as  a  great  and 
terrible  temptation — that  my  cry  may  have  been 
answered  from  heaven,  not  hell.  Oh,  who  can 
say  what  comfort  these  words  have  given  me  !  I 
have  thought  there  was  no  atonement.  I  have 
thought  that,  even  if  there  were  repentance,  it 
would  imply  renunciation  of  my  voice,  my  whole 
career.  God  help  me !  I  thought  that  I  had 
sold  my  soul !  Elvira!  wife!"  But  Elvira  lay 
insensible. 

For  days  after  this  terrible  narration,  Elvira 
hovered  between  life  and  death.  At  last  there 
came  a  time  in  which  they  said,  "All  hope  is  over, 
and  but  few  hours  are  left." 

She  lay,  as  usual,  by  the  window,  panting  for 
air ;  and  Giannetto  alone  was  with  her.  In  feel  ile, 
gasping  words  she  spoke  to  him  of  hope  to  come, 


176  GIANNETTO. 

of  pardon,  and  of  peace.  She  was  going  home, 
she  said,  leaving  him  alone  in  the  wide  and  weary 
world,  perhaps  through  long,  long  years  of  pen- 
ance, to  expiate  his  sin.  Giannetto's  head  was 
bowed,  and  he  only  reiterated — "Elvira!  O  El- 
vira !  do  not  leave  me ! " 

She  told  him  she  was  going  before — to  pray  for 
him.  Once,  in  bitter  anguish,  he  cried  aloud, 
"My  punishment  is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 
But  she  spoke  on ;  and  ever  her  words  dwelt  on 
the  peace  which  passeth  understanding — on  the 
reward  to  be  looked  for,  by  God's  grace,  when 
the  weary  race  is  run. 

And  so  the  hours  drew  on. 

Over  the  dark  sea,  over  the  silent  streets,  the 
night  came  softly  down.  One  by  one  the  large 
pale  stars  shone  out  in  the  southern  sky. 

Breaking  the  solemn  watches  of  the  night,  came 
the  low  murmur  of  chanting  and  the  tinkling  of 
a  little  bell.  Out  of  the  church  passed  a  slow 
procession,  bearing  the  "Viaticum"  to  a  passing 
soul.  Two  and  two,  followed  the  simple  fisher- 
men to  the  door  of  Giannetto's  house,  and  then 
they  knelt  down  in  the  street,  and  the  priest  and 
Fra  Geronimo  went  in  alone. 


GIANNETTO.  177 

It  was  over.  The  last  rites  were  accomplished, 
the  last  words  said,  and  they  thought  that  she 
slept.  Giannetto  knelt  beside  her  bed,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her  face,  his  hands  clasping  hers. 

Pale,  and  not  understanding  such  a  woe,  the 
peasant-mother  watched  and  wept ;  and  the  long 
hours  stole  on. 

Suddenly  burst  a  cry  from  Carola — "  Giannetto ! 
O  Giannetto ! " 

•    "Hush,  hush  ! " he  said ;  "you  will  wake  her — 
she  sleeps ! " 

"Not  sleep,  Giannetto;  it  is  not  sleep,  but 
death!" 

Still  he  knelt  on,  as  if  he  had  not  heard ;  and 
her  hands  were  growing  cold  in  his.  All 
thought,  all  feeling  gone,  save  one,  that  she  was 
dead — his  idol — his  beloved — gone  from  him,  and 
for  ever ! 

Seeing  that  he  did  not  move,  Carola  went  out 
and  called  Fra  Geronimo.  Tenderly  the  Fran- 
ciscan laid  his  hand  on  Giannetto's  shoulder. 
"  Giannetto,"  he  said,  "my  son,  come  with  me." 

Gentle  and  docile  as  a  child,  Giannetto  rose 
and  followed  him  out,  a  broken-hearted  man. 

The  fishermen  were  waiting  for  him  outside  in 
12 


178  GIANNETTO. 

the  street, — foremost  among  them  Pietro  Zei — all 
eager  to  grasp  his  hands.  "  Giannetto  !  Gian- 
netto !  pardon  us ;  we  knew  not  what  we  did. 
Ah  !  pardon,  pardon  us ! " 

They  thronged  round  him.  Giannetto  took 
Pietro's  outstretched  hand,  raising  his  glassy 
eyes  from  the  ground.  "  Friends,"  he  said,  "  as 
I  hope  to  be  forgiven,  I  forgive  you  freely." 

He  went  on  with  the  friar  to  the  Curators  house, 
leaving  the  rough  fishermen  sobbing  like  chit- 
dren. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  of  his  wife,  Gian- 
netto left  his  native  town  with  the  Franciscan.  I 
heard  from  the  Curato  that  he  had  entered  one 
of  the  religious  orders ;  and  some  years  passed 
away. 

Once  more  I  heard  of  him.  We  were  living 
near  Pisa ;  and  one  day,  with  a  small  number  of 
friends,  we  visited  a  Carthusian  monastery  in  a 
remote  valley,  which  is  very  little  known  to  the 
world  in  general.  It  was  a  wild,  desolate  place — 
the  monks  supporting  themselves  by  the  produce 
of  their  land,  and  by  the  alms  bestowed  on  them 
in  requital  for  their  prayers. 

There  were  about  twelve  of  them  at  the  time 


GIANNETTO.  I79 

of  our  visit — fewer  than  usual ;  for  fever,  com- 
bined with  the  peculiar  austerities  of  their  order, 
had  considerably  thinned  their  ranks. 

The  women  of  our  party  were  not  admitted 
within  the  gates  ;  but  I  myself  and  a  friend  were 
taken  by  a  lay-brother  to  the  cell  of  the  Superior, 
and  round  the  buildings. 

The  Superior  received  us  with  dignified  court- 
esy, and  showed  us  as  much  of  the  monastery 
as  was  allowed.  He  conducted  us  into  the  gloomy 
chapel,  where  one  or  two  of  the  white-robed 
monks  were  kneeling.  They  never  moved  when 
we  entered,  but  knelt  on,  rigid,  as  if  hewn  out  of 
the  stone.  He  showed  us  the  beautiful  cloister 
with  its  twisted  marble  pillars  and  vaulted  roof. 
On  the  walls,  cut  on  the  stone,  were  the  names  of 
the  dead,  their  secular  names  as  well  as  those 
adopted  by  them  on  entering  the  Order — the  last 
link  after  death  with  the  outer  world — and 
among  them  I  read  this  : 

GIOVANNI  BATTISTA  NENCINI.       FRA  GIOVANNI.       DEO 

GRATIA3. 

I  turned  to  the  Superior  and  asked  him  when 


180  GIANNETTO. 

this  penitent  had  died.  "  Two  years  ago,"  he 
said.  "  Fra  Giovanni  led  the  holiest  of  lives. 
He  practiced  every  penance  and  austerity  per- 
mitted by  our  rule ;  and  from  the  time  he  took 
the  vows,  he  never  spoke  again.  No  ear  ever 
heard  the  sound  of  his  voice  till  the  last  moment 
of  his  life.  He  died  of  the  malaria  in  the  heat 
of  summer.  Pie  lay  on  ashes  in  the  chapel,  for 
such  was  his  humble  desire ;  and  when  the  last 
moment  came,  he  stretched  out  his  arms  as  if  to 
grasp  some  vision,  and  fell  back  murmuring  '  Deo 
gratias.'  And  see,  we  had  those  words  engraved 
below  his  name." 

It  was,  from  first  to  last,  a  strange  story,  and 
one  that  I  can  never  forget.  I  wished  to  hear 
more  of  those  years  after  Elvira's  death ;  but  the 
Curato  was  dead,  and  I  could  find  no  trace  of 
Fra  Geronimo.  I  sought  after  him  for  some 
time,  and  did  not  give  up  the  quest  till  I  had 
learned  that  he  had  been  sent  on  some  far-off 
foreign  mission  in  the  East. 

The  End. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-32m-8,'57(.C8680s4)444 
LINQAMB.      $2. 

MOSCHELES'     RECENT      MUSIC      AND      MUSI- 
CIANS.    12mo.     *2.0O 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  25  Bond  St,,  New  York. 

sbSe 


-J 


/*         m 


"""^'■""OOO  370  422    8 
in  announcing  that  they  ku  <c  arranged  to  incorporate 
in  the  Leisure  Hour   Series  a  new  impression  of  the 

NTHROP.        They    trust 
'.aders,  whose  apprecia- 
te Series,  will  be  glad, 
interest  in  the  best  that 
ne     anew     this    legacy 
it  ion    of  patriots    and 


PR 

U972 

M283g 


Irceme,  with  Portrait, 
>  Curtis,  is  now  ready, 
f  intervals. 


'ANY,  STRUCTURAL 
er  portion  being  an  Analyti- 
its,  Trees,  Shrubs,  Ordinary 
forth ern  and   Middle  United 

August  Koehler,  M.D., 

>f  Pharmacy  of  the  City  of 
,arge  12rno.     $3.00. 

STUDY   OF   INSECTS, 

beneficial  to  crops  ;  for  the 
^riculturists.  With  fifteen 
^odcuts.     Fifth  edition.  Svo. 


>     OF     ANIMALS, 
bed.     8vo,  $2.50. 


IN- 


usilN'S  LECTURES  ON  JURISPRUDENCE: 
Abridged  from  the  larger  work  for  the  use  of  students.  By 
Robert  Campbell.     1  vol.,  8to,  $3.00. 

THE  FAMILY  RECORD  ALBUM.  In  Blanks  classified 
on  a  New  System.  Large  quarto,  32N  pages.  Cloth.  $5.  Half 
morocco.  $8.  Full  morocco.  $15.  Levant  or  Russia,  with  metal 
rims  and  lock,  decorations  and  lettering  full  gold.  $25. 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  Publishers,  New  York. 


iinniiwn-*^1 


■w 


~1R) 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


GIANNETTO 


BY 


LADY  M.MAJENDIE 


.  - 


Henry  Holt&Co.  Publishes 


New  York 


V&l 


